Dichotomy
by saphira and shruikan
Summary: AU. Jean just wants to be better at hunting than that Eren Jaeger kid, and he figures that following a master hunter and picking up some tips will do the trick. But when he follows Ymir, the best his village has got, on a solo trip, he gets a little more than he bargained for. JeanMarco, Naga!Marco.
1. Stalker

**Dichotomy**

I'm shit at archery.

And in my village, that shit is _golden. _If you can't shoot, you run after game like a lunatic with a weapon. If you can't run fast, you set traps. If you're an idiot and you can't even do that, you're stuck in the village, in the epitome of mundanity.

Guess who can't do any of these things.

Well, it certainly isn't the guy next to me.

Whenever I nock an arrow, it swings to the side. When I try to be stealthy, my feet somehow manage to find every single loud twig on the forest floor. I can't set up a decent trap for my life. The intricacies of hunting seem to elude me.

Our village is tiny compared to others I've heard about. I wouldn't know, because I've never left here. We've got about four hundred villagers and we're surrounded by forests and mountains, all rich with wildlife. The nearest other civilization is a day's ride from here to the east, and traders stop by every few months. We get trinkets, and they get meat and furs. Hunting is the biggest thing we've got going.

You want to know who's great at hunting? Well, everyone knows. Good hunters are practically royalty in my village. Reiner's awesome at the lunatic-with-a-club nonsense; he's usually the one that runs down the game and slays it after it's been shot and hobbled.

Bertholdt's an archer. He's pretty good, too, and you wouldn't expect it from such a shy guy.

Erwin used to be our best hunter, but then he lost his arm to a bear, so he obviously can't draw a string back anymore. He just leads a bunch of expeditions now. Levi is the short guy that never leaves Erwin's side; apparently he's one of the best we've ever had, not that anyone would know. He doesn't really talk to anyone.

Mikasa's a_maz_ing. Let me _tell _you. She's just good at everything. Tracking, trapping, skinning, shooting, running, walking, talking, breathing. . . .

Her brother's a little shit, though. I would _not_ mind if loud, antagonizing, idiotic Eren Jaeger got lost on some quest or something. He's not even _good._ He's just good at walking real quiet, but once he has prey in his sights he goes ballistic and charges it screaming. He hasn't caught a single thing besides a cold.

Well, I haven't either. But Eren shouldn't have been breathing so close to me. It was his fault.

But the most admired hunter by far is Ymir. Ymir is tall, thin, and tan, with smatterings of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She has squinty eyes that are full of nothing but gleeful disdain. She brings back more game than anyone else, and she only goes hunting once a _week._ That's how good she is.

You've probably noticed that I'm talking an awful lot about hunting. Well, hunting is kind of what our village revolves around. Our forests are too plentiful for it not to. We're too far away from other villages to trade more often, and with winter on the way everyone's making the necessary preparations to survive. We're trying to do better than last year; we lost over sixty people to the chill.

What's my contribution, you ask? Well, friend, let me tell you that my amazing and worthwhile contribution to the noble cause of feeding and supplying our hearty village is to be absolutely fucking useless and help Reiner bake.

Reiner's got this thing where he has to be doing something at all times: socializing, exercising, working, anything. He just can't sit idle. So he's our resident baker when he's not hunting. He's a good guy, and he knows I hate feeling useless, so he taught me how to bake the bread as he stands outside reeling in customers. Or talks to Bertholdt. Bertholdt should work here, not me; the guy never leaves.

I only burned, like, three loaves beyond recognition, and those were first attempts. I got better.

I barely get paid, but I'm fine with that. My older brother Thomas is a decent trapper, so he provides for us enough. My mother and father don't really pressure me to go out and do things. They don't really pay attention to that.

I like my job, sure; I love Reiner (look, I'm not afraid to admit it, because everyone does; it's hard not to) and the task is easy enough (everyone's happy when you make food for them). The only downside is that Eren fucking Jaeger is the same age as me, just as useless, and works for _Ymir._

Reiner's cool and all, but _Ymir. _She works with wicker six days a week, making everything from baskets to stools to chairs, and Eren helps her out and delivers things. I turned head-to-toe jealous when I heard about that. I can't imagine being around Ymir all the time. She's loud, raucous, and makes fun of everybody, but I harbor this weird notion that being around her will make me a better hunter.

The only thing that's heartened me since then is that I hear Ymir's gotten a bunch of new complaints from people. Apparently her works now sometimes fall apart, when before Eren started working with her her products were flawless. I think that's actually the reason I started baking better, you know. I don't know what the hell it is about Eren fucking Jaeger, but he makes me want to best him constantly.

I hear Reiner's booming laugh outside, accompanied by the quiet undercurrent of Bertholdt's chuckling. I roll my eyes. Reiner tends to forget about business when Bertholdt is around. I stick my head out from the back room. Sure enough, Reiner is there, leaning forward with his arms on the counter, talking animatedly to Bertholdt.

Something else catches my attention, and my eyes widen before narrowing. Eren fucking Jaeger is traipsing by, and I grumble unintelligibly to myself. What a little brat. He even walks like a hothead.

To my dismay, Eren strolls right up to the counter, and Reiner starts chatting with him immediately. _Traitor! _But no, I calm myself. Today is a huge day.

I don't go outside. Like hell I'd willingly associate with that moron. I'm not intimidated or anything, no way. It's just that there are a lot of loaves to be scored. I have a quota to fill. Besides, getting in a fight with Jaeger is bad for my blood pressure. I'm just looking out for my health, see.

I hear Eren's voice stop, and peek out again. He's gone, and I relax. A good day for me is one where I don't have to see his dumb, scrunched little face.

Then I hear Reiner's voice from behind me. "Hey, kid, why are you cooping yourself up? Get out here and socialize."

"Do I have to?" I mutter. I've got to keep up an act. "I've got stuff to do."

Reiner looks around at the admittedly large number of loaves I've baked out of what seems like boredom today (but it's actually not. I've got a plan). "We're going to have to toss some of these. Come on, get out here. Be social with me and Bertl."

_Yes! _I crow internally. I fake-attempt to resist him with loud protests and more than a few whacks, but he hauls me out to the front and plunks me down beside him. Bertholdt waves shyly; I ignore him. When Reiner wants you to socialize, you do it. He doesn't seem to grasp the concept of the too-awesome-to-meddle-with-mortals. And that's exactly something I've been counting on.

Reiner and Bertholdt resume speaking and I just sit there like a sack of flour. I grunt, "Yeah," appropriately when Reiner pauses and just drift off, picking lumps of dough off my hands. My mind wanders, because today is great. Today is a big day.

I'm sick of bread. I can barely stomach the stuff anymore. No one pays attention to you when you're a baker. No one cares that you're putting food in their belly. No, to get recognition, there has to be blood involved. You need skill. Muscle. Endurance. You need fresh meat.

Reiner's great, but running down deer doesn't seem all that great. Archery is dignified, lethal, and almost a guarantee of a hit. That's the big thing. That's what I want to be. I want to be the next big name on the lips of my peers. I want to be the one parents discuss over dinner when they bring up what their children could be like one day. I want to be above worthless Eren fucking Jaeger once and for all.

Fuck that guy.

Ymir weaves baskets like a normal woman six days a week, but on the seventh she goes out alone and brings home enough dead animals to feed a man for a month.

Today happens to be one of those days.

Today I'm going to seize initiative. I'm going to take that first step forward. When Ymir goes out alone to hunt, I'm going to follow her.

Before you call me a creep, listen. I'm going to learn a thing or two. Maybe I'm just not hiding well enough. Maybe I'm stepping wrong. Watching a master (mistress?) at work will transform me. I _know_ it will. It's got to.

And I know exactly when to begin my expedition, because Ymir always stops by to grab some snacks for her solo hunt. Reiner usually makes sure to bake her favorite: chocolate-studded rolls made with sweetened bread. Cocoa is a luxury out here, but Ymir gets what Ymir wants. And why the fuck would Ymir want that, honestly. Sweetened bread is fucking disgusting.

I happen to glance up and see her approaching. My heart picks up an excited pace, because my plan is beginning. She's not too tall, but her presence matters; people subconsciously make way for her, scurrying out of the way, smiling nervously at her squinty glare and purposefully swinging fists and the five huge scars that stretch across her skin from shoulder to hip.

Ymir doesn't care enough to hide them. Long and bumpy and ropy, those white scars have been on her for as long as I can remember. She often wears clothing that reveals her midriff and upper chest, so no one really forgets about them.

She got them from the naga.

Ymir's always eager to rip her shirt off and tell you exactly how she got those scars, modesty be damned. I remembered the exact moment she told me. I was twelve, and she was sixteen. I asked her upfront why her chest looked like a nightmare, and she thrust out with her hands, seized my upper arms, and lifted me bodily over her head. I can still recall with perfect clarity that psychotic grin. "You want to know, little boy?" she asked, and I nodded.

So then she set me down and told me, along with a crowd of my enraptured peers. She'd been hunting up in the cliffs to the northwest of our little village with her brother when she saw it. The naga. The fearsome and freakish fusion between a man and a cobra. Ymir told us all about how she'd bravely fought the gigantic creature and barely escaped with her life and the five deep wounds from when the beast had scored her with its terrible clawed hands. Her brother had been devoured before her very eyes.

"I don't go up there anymore, kids," she said, nodding sagely, "and if I don't, no one does. You don't fuck with that naga. And if anyone _does_, it's going to be _me."_

No one hunted in the northwestern cliffs for fear of the naga. Honestly, sometimes I used to lie awake at night, imagining the slithery, slimy body of a snake rustling outside my bedroom door. I used to creep into Thomas's bed and sleep with him until he decided I was too old for it to be cute anymore and started shoving me out.

Well, I got the fuck over it, obviously. But still, no one fucks with that naga. Once something that dangerous makes its home somewhere, you deal with it and you avoid it.

Ymir strolls up to Bertholdt and slams her hip into him hard enough to make him yelp and buckle. "Whoops! Sorry, Berty! You should really learn to get out of the way."

"It's okay. I'm sorry," Bertholdt squeaks, and makes his hasty exit. Reiner looks a little put out.

"The usual, Ymir?" he asks her, reaching behind the counter to bring out the prepared bundle. I baked those chocolate monstrosities this week. I feel pretty proud for that.

"You bet'cha," Ymir says eagerly, snatching up her goodies and tossing a coin in the air for Reiner to catch. "Thanks, stud."

"Anytime, girly. Hey, tell me how the rolls are, yeah? Jean baked them this time."

Ymir raises a critical eyebrow over at me, and I do my best to look awesomely and casually indifferent. I'm not sure if it works, because Ymir scoffs and spins on her heel, walking away and waving a hand dismissively. I see she's already bedecked in hunting gear, and have to refrain from bouncing in excitement.

I clear my throat. "Hey, Reiner."

"Hmm?" he hums distractedly, looking around. He's probably looking for Bertholdt.

"Sooo," I say slowly, my heart pounding a bit. "I did a lot of work today."

"You did," he agrees, turning to look at me.

"So I can have the rest of the day off, right?" I ask in a rush, slapping on a hopefully cute smile.

Reiner scoffs at my attempt to beg. He waves a hand graciously. "Do whatever. You earned it, worker bee."

_Fuck yeah! _I stop myself from punching the air in success and vault off the stool. "Thanks, man!"

"Don't get into trouble with Eren again, all right? Separating you two is getting old," he calls after me as I collect my stuff and barrel out the back door.

_Shit shit shit, please don't have left already, pleaaase, _I beg internally, trotting in the direction Ymir had gone. I want to say I dodge all the people who want to say hello to me, but no one does. The most attention I get is from the butcher, who narrows his eyes at me and stares until I'm out of sight. Christ, you steal one sausage and suddenly you're a criminal.

_There! _I see the back of Ymir's ponytailed head in the crowd. I jog closer to her before matching her pace, trying not to look suspicious. I probably look like a crazy Ymir stalker. It's not the first time it's happened. Ymir's got a lot of admirers and some of them are _nuts_.

Eventually we reach the western edge of town, where the forest looms, dark and foreboding. I can hardly contain my excitement. I kind of wish Jaeger can see me right now! On a hunt with Ymir, the best of the best and his boss besides! Well, Ymir doesn't know I'm with her. That's okay, though. We're buddies even if she doesn't know.

She doesn't even break her stride as she slips right between the trunks of the trees and, with a rustle of the bushes, disappears into the gloom.

Making sure no one is watching, I follow her.

**Oh Christ it's my first shipping fic. And my first SNK fic. Lord preserve me.**


	2. Slither

**Slither**

You don't really comprehend how fucking loud you are until you try to keep quiet. I'm literally taking the most careful and precise steps ever, but that doesn't matter to the constantly snapping twigs beneath my feet.

My only saving grace is that Ymir is just as loud. She doesn't seem to be making any effort to mask her presence; she just saunters through the woods like she owns the place, shoving through bushes and just generally walking noisily. Leaves rustle and hiss under her feet. She heads directly west, and I as well on her trail.

I walk far enough behind her that I can only glimpse the back of her bobbing head, and I duck like a motherfucker whenever I see even a _twitch_ of her neck. It would suck if she catches me; I can't think of a way to explain why I followed her without sounding like a desperate loser, and I don't think anyone would want to be alone in the woods with a pissed-off Ymir.

I haven't been in the woods by myself at all yet, and even if I'm not truly alone, I feel oppressed. Everything from bears to wolves to cougars to porcupines rove these hills, and I keep glancing left and right to make sure a shape isn't loping toward me. I never noticed how loud squirrels are; one tiny animal with enough leaves under its paws can make it seem like a stampede.

My legs are starting to darken from the damp, and my toes are starting to squelch and rub together. My shoulders ache from keeping myself hunched so low and ducking so often. God, how long is Ymir going to take? How long is she just going to barrel through the brush before she decides to get some nice hunting done? Is this a tactic or something? I wonder if I've been doing it wrong this whole time. Is the trick, instead of making an effort to be stealthy, to just walk along as bold as you please and chance upon an animal? Hunting seems lazy if it's like that.

I flail and nearly trip when I realize Ymir has stopped, and I duck hurriedly, watching her through the leaves, breath bated in anticipation. Ymir's looking around, squinting, and I think, _Yes! It finally begins! _

That is, until Ymir promptly spins on her heel, turns directly to her right, and resumes walking with the same forceful destruction as before. _Ugh._

I wait until she's gone ahead a considerable amount before resuming the stalk. I was expecting more . . . you know . . . _excitement. _If I wanted to walk I would have . . . well, actually, I never want to walk. Fuck walking. I would have stayed at Reiner's and listened to those two losers talk to each other.

The thought of giving up while Eren fucking Jaeger flashes into my head gives me the determination to keep going. Even if I'm insanely hungry. Ymir has always insisted upon going alone during her hunts. I'm the first person to ever see her in action! Learn her secrets! I'm the fucking _man! _Suck my dick, Eren, you and your faulty wicker chairs.

I realize that I'm externally grinning like a psychopath as I internally fantasize about my imminent rise to glory. I hastily check to make sure Ymir is still within sight and oblivious of me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

There aren't any paths here anymore. I mean, I figure someone as intrepid and skilled as Ymir doesn't need a measly path, but it's just making walking even more loud and obnoxious. And it kind of bothers me. I mean, we hunt a _lot, _so we beat down a _lot_ of paths. Where the hell are we?

She was heading west. Then she spun right.

Northwest.

I nearly slam into a tree. _Oh my fucking God. _Of all the days to follow Ymir, it's the one when she finally decides to tramp up there and enact revenge against the fucking _naga._

What other explanation is there? There aren't any trails because no one goes near here. Ymir's the only one nuts enough to traipse right through the northwestern woods like she owns them; hell, she's probably headed right toward the high cliffs.

"Fuck this. I'm going home," I mutter to myself, and turn around. Facing the empty woods makes me stop. I can hear Ymir's fading cacophony behind me, and my chest pangs with an emptiness I didn't expect.

How long have I been waiting for this? And I'm just going to let it go? Fuck that, Jean Kirschtein. There is literally no better opportunity than this. You get to watch Ymir hunt, sure, but _you get to watch her slay the fucking naga. _The _naga. _And you get to bear witness? Even if she dies (which, according to her, is either likely or unlikely depending on what mood she's in), someone's got to be around to tell people what happened, right?

What am I kidding. Now I'm excited. I don't care about telling her sob story; I want to see her _kick ass._

And I'll be there to soak up all that majesty like a two-toned _sponge. _

Oh, and I can't hear Ymir anymore.

I spin around, heart pounding. I realize right in this moment that I am farther west than is custom and farther north than is sane. I am alone in naga territory. Oh Christ, how _big_ is the naga? Ymir said it was bigger than a bear. Surely I can see that barreling towards me . . . not that that helps calm my nerves. Now I can't stop imagining a hulking cobra, all hissing and rustling scales creeping up behind me.

I start jogging as fast and as quietly as I can (which isn't very fast or quiet), muttering swears under my breath as I frantically search for a brown ponytail amongst all the bobbing greenery. Why are there so many fucking trees? Oh, I am so not getting lost in the fucking northwestern woods. I could swear she was just here a second ago. How long did my little crisis _take?_

The trees thin out to my left and I spare them a glance, slowing once I see a moving shape. I freeze before realizing it's human, and spare a sigh of relief. I creep closer, because it can only be Ymir.

Sure enough, a large glade stretches out in front of me, brimming with lush tall grass and purple wildflowers. Ymir strolls casually through the thick turf, whistling a loud and energetic tune and twirling a stick in her hand. I hunker down behind a tree at the edge of the clearing, watching her. She heads for a knotted tree trunk lying flat upon the ground, its roots tangled in the air, speckled with long-uprooted dirt; upon reaching it she flops down upon it, yawning and stretching her arms.

How anyone can be so casual in naga territory is beyond me. Maybe Ymir isn't actually the best choice of a role model. Maybe she's a genuine psychopath. Does she get her kicks from being in danger? Is that it? I take a moment to glance over my shoulders anxiously, as if begging to see a horrible snake face leering snaggle-fanged out of the shadows.

I'm interrupted by a piercing noise, and I jump nearly out of my skin, a startled exclamation wheezing from between my teeth. I snap my head back around to see Ymir's hand falling from her mouth, and she starts rifling through her bag.

Did she . . . ? Did she seriously just . . . _whistle? _Loud and clear through the whole forest where, lest we forget, a _fucking naga_ dwells? She's nuts. I should have gone home. Oh God. I'm going to get eaten. If the naga didn't know we were here it sure does now.

I almost debate with running out there to ask her to take me home, but hell no to that. Firstly, that would be admitting I ever followed her here, and I don't want to ignite her wrath. Secondly, if she's crazy enough to even go out here then she's definitely crazy enough to do something stupid like ditching me or something equally cruel.

I take another cursory glance over my shoulders, paranoia and anxiety making my heart pick up the pace. How about I never even let slip about this whole fucking incident to anyone. If I get home alive, I'll be happy as hell. Forget the hunting; Jean Kirschtein wants to _live. _

It's when I'm looking around again that I see it.

I do a double take, because there's a shirtless guy hunched over in the bushy shadows at the edge of the tree line far to the right of me, staring at Ymir. Her back is to him, and she seems oblivious.

I stare in mounting terror at him because holy Christ he's just _staring _at Ymir, crouched with his back bowed in the bushes, as if he's trying to keep hidden. At least I don't think he's noticed me. But my fear ebbs away slowly as I reason with myself. It's too far away to make out any distinguishing features, but that looks to me like a normal human. He's the right size and shape, anyhow, just lacking a shirt. The naga's supposed to be a gargantuan snake monster. So that can't be it.

That still doesn't really answer the question of why in the hell a man is hunched over and staring at Ymir as she sits there oblivious. I contemplate this as I hunch over and stare at Ymir, who sits there oblivious.

The man moves, and my eyes snap to him. Calling to Ymir never occurs to me, or perhaps it does, but no force exists that will propel my voice; only a frigid one that renders immobile my wide eyes. The guy slowly creeps out of the bushes, and the motion sends a shiver up my spine. It's way to smooth to be natural. It's like he's being propelled by something.

Then I'm uncomprehending, because he doesn't step into the clearing. He slithers.

It possesses the upper body of a normal man, but from the waist down is a huge, long, milky-bellied, black-scaled snake trunk. Scales merge with skin around the creature's waist, lowest at the hips and highest up along the stomach and spine, the latter of which sticks out of its skin in bony ridges. The full body squirms out of the forest and coils twistingly under where the head should be, a glistening mass that must be over thirty feet long.

The first thoughts that hit me are both, _Oh my God, the naga, _and, _Oh God, it's small and that's somehow worse._

With terrifying swiftness the beast charges, the human part's back bent low to the ground, its hands pawing, digging into the ground as the twisting tail flattens and writhes to propel it forward. Ymir hasn't even noticed; the beast is far too quiet, and the only noise is the panicked roaring in my own head. _Ymir! _I try to shout, but nothing comes out except a weak cry; my throat feels like it's turned to stringy mush.

Ten feet from Ymir the snake slows and rears up, towering, the human hands bent into clawed fists, and like a spitting rattler the creature lunges at Ymir's back.

It happens so fast, but I see it all. Ymir doesn't even look, just tosses her stuff off the log and throws herself sideways, covering her head; the snake's heavy body hits the log with a loud thump as it misses. Ymir gathers herself, turns, and vaults directly into the arms of the beast, and her momentum shoves them both over the other edge of the log.

The naga's tail whips through the air and they doubtlessly grapple, thumps and muffled exclamations being the thing I can absorb, and then even those phase out as I panic; the fallen tree censors anything else I might see. I stand, my knees like rubber, my tongue like wet bread; this is so unbelievably out of my league that I can't even move to help her. _There goes the other one,_ flashes through my head over and over, stupidly, for the naga has claimed first one sibling and now the last.

Oh. I'm right here. When the naga gets bored, _I'm_ next.

I turn and promptly trip, hitting the forest floor hard; _Way to go, Kirschtein, now run like the wind! _I urge myself, and heave myself onto my hands and knees.

It's in that moment somehow that I can hear clearly.

Ymir and the naga must still be fighting, because I can hear scuffling noises quite clearly behind me, but the noises I hear aren't quite right for the situation.

Ymir is laughing.

I'm ready to dismiss this as crazy, psychotic, come-and-get-me-naga-bastard laughter, but it has a note of genuine giddiness that makes me look over my shoulder. Ymir has disentangled herself from the naga and is _chasing it, _her arms outstretched, her weapons strewn all over the ground and forgotten. She's howling something it takes me a while to decipher.

"_Let's gooo, _little man! I'll beat the snot out of you, punk!"

I squirm back to the tree I'd been hiding behind before, genuinely in disbelief. The naga is fleeing her, its human head turned over its shoulder to behold her as its snake body slithers and hops with heavy leaps and bounds, always twisting just out of her reach. The naga faces me for a second, just one, and that's all I need to see that the creature is smiling.

They're playing.

_What._

Ymir skids to a thudding stop, huffing out great exaggerated breaths. She waves her fist in a joking manner. "Maybe in a minute. Give me a minute. _Wheeeew. _I'm getting too old for this. What were you trying to do, kill me?"

"No I wasn't," pipes up a new voice, a male voice. The naga's human mouth is moving, its tongue is flicking, but a young man's voice is coming out of its mouth and the naga is speaking to Ymir and they're playing tag and what the fuck is happening.

"I was just messing around," the naga goes on, slithering up to her and lowering its human torso to her side, so that it's at a realistic height for if it had legs. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"I almost didn't hear you, little buddy," Ymir sighs, throwing an arm around the naga's shoulders and reaching up a hand to tousle its black hair. "Like a force of nature. I almost got scared."

"Almost?"

"Almost! Do I get scared? Ymir doesn't get scared!"

They continue to babble as I lie there on my stomach like a moron, gaping at them. I mean, sure, I guess it could make sense that the naga can speak. It has a human mouth, after all. But Ymir's . . . being _chummy _with it. The creature that gave her her scars, ate her brother. The creature that used to keep me awake at night and instill terror in the whole village.

I have got to get out of here.

Two things happen right now.

First, I try to get up. My hand goes down right on a twig, because of course it does, that's just my luck.

Second, a gust of wind tousles the back of my head as it changes course, blowing from behind me into the glade. The naga goes silent and stiff as a board, its head tilted at a weird angle, its mouth open.

Then it snaps its head around to stare right at me.

Me, crouched in the dirt like the worm I am, as the beast looks directly into my eyes.

_Busted._

An unearthly shriek splits the silence, and I cry out in fear, scrambling to my feet as the naga launches itself away from Ymir and barrels right at me.

If that was play before, this is _not. _The naga's face no longer looks human; its eyes have become wide and glassy, its nose humped and slit, its mouth fanged and gaping beyond the boundaries of the human skull's capability to gape. Its tongue flits out, thin and tubular and whirring at the end as it tastes the air like a snake. Its fingers have turned to black claws, and scales erupt like boils all over its body as it gallops and writhes and skids toward me.

Hearing blots out; vision goes sharp. The rubber has congealed, the bread blackened. I turn and run like a motherfucker.

That earsplitting screech erupts behind me again as my feet pound into the dirt, sprinting through the forest as fast as I can go. My eyes are wide with horror, my mouth agape and rigid and panting, and my entire being screams, _Go! Go! Go!_ The noises I hear are worse than pursuing footsteps; instead I get irregular thumps and crashes as the naga tears after me, coiling and uncoiling its body to literally throw itself after me, smashing through bushes and into trees in indiscriminate haste.

The forest has no end and no variation; there are only trees and dirt and nowhere to hide. I'm way too far away from the village to even contemplate screaming for help. My body bows forward, my ankles wrenching and tingling, sure that jaws snap just behind them.

The naga shrieks a third time, and it's right behind me; I can feel the wind from its winding body buffeting me, bark and leaves thrown at my skin in the disarray of its pursuit. Is my back too flat to have a chunk bitten out of it on the fly, or will the naga just go for my legs instead? Or my arms? _Don't stumble, don't trip, please God don't let me trip over my own feet, _I pray as my feet thud clumsily on the forest floor. I'm making noise; maybe I'm sobbing, maybe moaning, who the fuck knows because my life has never been about to end and I can't hear a goddamn thing-

A hand wraps itself around my upper arm and I gasp out a half-scream, too winded and scared to do more; I'm wrenched from my path, thrown off my feet, and slammed back into a tree.

My vision lists to my feet, blurry and bright. My back arches in a halfhearted attempt to get free. "No, don't oh _God, _please just-"

"_Shut the fuck up!"_ Ymir screams in my face, her fingers digging into my arm.

I breathe hard, blinking hard, trying to think hard, looking around wildly. The naga is nowhere to be seen.

Ymir's eyes are narrowed, her lips curled back, lifted in a snarl, and for a second I wonder if she's a naga too. "Why the _fuck_ are you here?" she bellows. When my answer is a little too slow for her taste, she lifts me back up and slams me against the tree again. "Earth-to-asshole! Answer the fucking question!"

"Ah- uh- I, uh- I f-followed y-you," I manage to stutter out. "I just- wanted to see- wha- what the fuck was that thing? What the fuck was that?"

She glares at me in hearty anger, breathing just as hard as I am.

"That," she growls, "is my brother."


	3. Scunner

**Scunner**

I just hang there for a second staring wide-eyed at her, my mouth still fixed in an open grimace of what-the-fuck.

"Your brother the snake ate your brother?" I ask blankly.

Ymir looks at me like I just dropped her newborn. "Are you fucking-" She cuts herself off, releasing me; I nearly buckle to the ground, my knees so wobbly I'm afraid they won't support me. I lean back heavily against the tree as Ymir paces, growling things under her breath, occasionally shooting me hateful glances.

As I regain my breath, my eyes dart frantically all around for the beast. I risk a glance behind me; it's nowhere to be seen. The shadows have grown longer as the day goes on, and the wind has picked up, feeding my imagination a steady meal of oh-look-a-hulking-shape-in-the-bushes.

"Where'd it go?" I ask.

She whirls on me and I shrink back. "_He,_" she spits, "is probably hiding somewhere after you scared him."

My jaw hangs open. "Whoa, okay, wait. _I_ scared _him? _Did you not just see him try to eat me?"

"You startled us! You're not supposed to be here – of _course_ he flipped out a bit!" She throws her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Pity he didn't fucking tear you apart."

"Yeah, pity," I repeat squeakily, still looking around for the naga. "W-Where the fuck _is_ it?"

"Stop calling him an _it!"_ Ymir roars, and she's up in my face again, her nose almost bumping mine. "You don't fucking call him that. Why the fuck are you here? Who sent you?"

I sidle around the tree a little bit, away from her, blinking in incomprehension. "Sent me? No one. I sent me."

"Don't fucking play," she snarls, following me with a vicious tilt of her head. "Who was it, huh? Shadis? Levi? Fucking _Erwin? _That bastard's been on my back for fucking _years-"_

"Wait, whoa whoa, stop," I say. "I-I wasn't sent by anyone, I swear. Look, I was just really fucking jealous that you get so much respect and shit because you're a great hunter, so I wanted to see you in action and, like, I don't know, _learn_ something because I'm sick of being a baker-"

"Oh, shit," Ymir says suddenly. "I knew I knew you from somewhere. You're that kid that made the fucking chocolate abominations. That rude douchebag from Reiner's."

"Wh- Abominations? I slaved over those!"

"So you followed me," Ymir interrupts, "out of your own volition? Did anyone know this? Where you were going?"

"No, I-" I hear a rustle from somewhere behind me and whip my head around to look. Nothing. "I . . . well, I wasn't about to tell anyone I was stalking you, that'd be kind of embarrassing-"

"And no one knows where you are now?"

"_No, _for the third fucking time. I literally thought you were going hunting! Not going and- and playing tag with the fucking naga that ate your brother!"

"He didn't _eat_ my brother, you idiot," Ymir drawls angrily. "I made that up! Marco _is_ my brother. I told everyone that so no one would come up here and find him- which obviously did not fucking deter _some_ people!"

My eyes flit down to her chest, to the scars that rent her midriff.

"Bear," she growls before I can even answer the question. "Not him. Marco is harmless."

Marco. It sounds like such a normal name. It feels wrong to give something as human as a name to that thing. "Yeah, he looked really fucking harmless just now. He's a fucking monster."

She punches me. I see (and somehow hear) a white flash, my head snapping back from the force of her fist. Ringing starts up in my ears immediately, and tears flood to my eyes as I clutch my pounding nose. _"Fucking OW!" _Blood starts flooding down in sheets from both nostrils, coating my upper lip and splattering on my shirt.

"Suck it up," Ymir says uncaringly, wiping her hand off on her pants. "You're the one who cocked all of this up." She moves away, beginning to pace again. "Don't fucking move. Now I have to figure out what to do with you."

I cannot think of an adequate response to this past the prickling, burning pain in my face. I spit messily, and blood rains down upon the leaved ground. I pinch my nose with dripping hands, red drops siding down my arm to pool in my sleeve. Fuck, I am _never_ getting this out.

I don't interrupt Ymir. I'm not that stupid. I'm burning with questions, but she'll probably get annoyed and break something else. I'll wait until she initiates conversation again.

The naga's fanged face keeps reappearing behind my eyelids, and I spend the whole time Ymir paces around trying to figure out what to do with me spinning in a slow circle, jumping at every little noise. For some reason it's so much worse that the naga is my size. Big animals become unavoidable, unstoppable. They kill you with mighty bites that waste no time. Things the size of a human? They kill you slowly because they can't do it any faster. They're too small to swallow you whole, so they take dozens of bites out of you until you drain. And there's always that chance you could fight off something smaller, that chance that makes you struggle like a trapped rodent, the one that exhausts you and fills you with false hope.

Hell, I've never been attacked by _anything_ before (except for Eren fucking Jaeger a decent amount of times). My imagination is tapping into a font of information that's beyond primal. I'd prefer a bear to this fucking naga.

"Okay," Ymir says, abruptly turning to me; I straighten up, my heart hammering. "I'm stuck between threatening you with dismemberment if you even breathe a word, or just making this easier on myself and slitting your throat right now."

"First option," I choke out, horrified. I can't forget the rage in her face when she realized someone saw her precious naga. I don't even doubt that she's considering silencing me for good. Fucking psychopath. What I wouldn't give to still be at Reiner's right now instead of alone in the woods with the naga and its overprotective sister.

"You would say that. Come on, asshole, let's go clean your fucking horsey face." She seizes my upper arm and drags me behind her; I stumble and try to regain my feet while being hauled sideways, as well as holding back a tirade about her calling me horsey ("Horseface" is the name Eren fucking Jaeger gave me when we were thirteen and broke apart for good). I keep my fingers clasped over my nose, looking over the back of my hand at the woods to see if the naga's following. It isn't.

Ymir seems to know exactly where she is in this forest, and after about a minute of me desperately trying not to trip Ymir she releases me by a creek. "Clean up your fucking face," is all she says before turning back to the woods.

I refrain from sticking out my tongue at her and squat by the running water. How the fuck am I supposed to do this? What am I supposed to do, stick my fucking face in?

Ymir answers my question by planting her boot on my hunched back and sending me sprawling forward. I barely catch myself from bashing my face on the creek bed, but a good amount of water splashes my head; I rear back up, sputtering and gagging. "Can you fucking _not?" _I exclaim.

"You're taking too long. Don't complain to me, horsey. You're the one who ruined _our_ day."

I don't ask who she means by "_our"_ and rub my hands in the cold water of questionable cleanliness, twitching my nose to try and dislodge some of the dried blood and muttering under my breath things she would probably kick me again for.

After a lot of rubbing and sticking my fingers up my nostrils to get the crustiness out (don't judge, I know you do it too) I stand, sniffling to attempt to be able to breathe again. "So, uh, you're going to not kill me, right? Look, I guess I'm sorry for following you and everything, but I didn't ask to see your fucking naga or to have it chase me."

"Nah, you didn't," Ymir concedes drawlingly, frowning at me. "So I guess that leaves the alternative. Follow me."

She starts off into the forest and I follow her, trying not to look like I'm sticking too close to her or anything (when I totally am; I don't want to turn around and see the naga with more than five feet between me and Ymir). "Are we going home? If we go home I'll bake you all the fucking chocolate shit you want-"

"We're not going back yet," Ymir cuts in, sounding irritated. "You're going to go up to my Marco and apologize."

I stop short. "Are you fucking serious? You're calling it _again?_ Fuck no!"

She whirls on me again, and I let out a tiny squeak and shift away. "Yeah, and you're going to look him in the eye and tell him you're sorry for scaring him so bad he lashed out."

"That is the dumbest fucking logic I've ever heard," I protest, but she gives me a dangerous look, so I swallow and tell myself to tone it down. Internally I seethe; I don't want to go and reassure a predator like it's a fucking five-year-old. "Will it attack me again? I mean, isn't it supposed to be a monster? Like an animal?" I skitter away a few paces when Ymir's face twists into a snarl at the word "monster."

"Let's get something straight here," she growls, stopping. "Marco is a naga but that doesn't make him a monster. I made all that shit up because our village is populated by superstitious meatheads who attack anything unless it's never been seen. No one would think twice about coming up here and turning my brother into a pair of leather boots." The way she says its name, calls it her sibling, has a possessive and proud undercurrent and I try to wrap my head around that. "You heard him speak, I'm sure. He's not a fucking mindless animal."

"Is he the only naga?"

"The only one I've ever seen."

"So . . . if he's a naga, and he's your brother . . . are you a naga too?"

She looks at me like I grew a second head. "Are you fucking retarded? Do I look like a snake to you?"

"Well I don't know!" I say defensively. "Did he, like, hatch out of an egg or something, or-"

"How about this. You shut the fuck up and stop asking questions, all right?"

"All right, whatever," I grumble, scratching my nose absently. It's still sore as hell, but not broken, as far as I can tell.

I only realize she's taking me back to the glade with the fallen tree when we arrive. I pause when she strides right out into the open without a second of hesitation. I don't want to go onto those grounds, where the naga had lurked just now, even if it was being playful or whatever. I just want to go home and pretend this never happened. Not that I would know, but near-death experiences are fucking scary.

Ymir looks back and angrily gestures for me to follow, so I mutter under my breath and creep out, trying to pretend I don't see shapes in the tall grass. Ahead of me Ymir puts her hand to her mouth and lets loose that piercing whistle, and I curl my lip anxiously, glancing all around. I heard once that animals smell fear, so I try to reassure myself. Ymir got in between me and the naga once before; as long as I stick close to her, she can do it again.

We sit on the log and wait a few minutes in awkward silence, Ymir's leg bouncing impatiently, until she stands with a growl. "He's too scared. Marco!" she calls loudly to the trees. "Come out here, punk, I won't let the guy hurt you."

I find this pretty fucking rich, but don't say anything. Ymir will probably hurt me again.

"Come on, Marco. I promise you'll be fine. I know you're a little freaked out, but Jim here isn't going to run his mouth, I swear. He's just a dumbass who didn't mean to scare you. I could probably snap him I half if I wanted to."

"It's Jean."

"Please ask me if I give a shit." She sits back down. "If he doesn't show I'm going to make you eat my satchel."

"So once I say sorry or whatever, can we leave?" I ask impatiently. "It's getting dark. My parents are going to be pissed."

"I'm more pissed than your parents could ever hope to be. Calm the fuck down."

"I am calm," I insist, even though my hands are twisting together hard enough to make my skin white.

Ymir doesn't deign to respond. I sit there, my spine tingling, looking over my shoulder every two seconds out of paranoia. If that snake comes flying out of the woods and bites my face off, I'll use my dying breath to punch Ymir in the stomach.

Ymir's head jerks to the side, and for a second I'm afraid I just spoke out loud. But she's looking away from me, toward the skyward roots of the unsettled tree. A face is poking out shyly from behind those tangled limbs, and my heart jumps into my throat. Upon making eye contact with me the naga gives a little squeak and withdraws its head.

Ymir gets up immediately, calling to it. I stand too, knees wobbling; the fucking thing managed to sneak up to us like it was nothing.

Ymir's murmuring and gesturing at me, and I feel almost offended that she's trying to convince this supernatural monster that _I'm _the one who it needs to try and trust. It's like a tamer telling her pet lion to please not sample the fresh shanks of the human sitting there twiddling his fucking thumbs.

Then Ymir's walking back to me, looking purposeful and dangerous as hell. The naga slinks behind her in such a way that I can't really see it, and I skitter back a bit. "Uh, it better not-"

Ymir punches me in the arm hard enough to make me yelp. "Say hello."

She steps to the side, glaring at me like she's more of a predator than the naga itself. Oh, by the way, the naga is right in front of me. All thirty-plus feet of it.

Now that I'm close to it and not being chased by it, I can actually see what it looks like. Its human half looks like the torso of a teenage boy, its skin darkened from the sun, with freckles like Ymir's splashed across its face and shoulders. Its hair is black, shaggy, and unkempt. I can't really see the family resemblance between it and Ymir; Ymir's got a pretty sharp face with hawkish features, while this face is more squared and even. The naga would look normal if it weren't for its eyes. They're dark brown with pupils that look more like blocks than circles, and there is absolutely no white anywhere. The brown fades into blackish blue around the corners, making the whole thing look dark and unnatural.

It's not reared up enough that I can see much of its snake body up close, but I can see its dark back winding through the grass behind it. It's not actually black, but a really dark brown with lighter-colored stripes segmenting it every few feet. It's thick enough that I don't think I'd be able to wrap my arms around it at its widest. Not that I ever would. I'm not touching that thing in a million years.

The naga's human back is hunched, its hands wringing nervously in front of its stomach. It's shaking a little. It stares nervously at the ground, glancing at Ymir or up at me every few seconds. It opens its mouth, but nothing comes out except a hiss, and it swallows.

I'm leaning back as far as is humanly possible, staring with a mix of horrid fascination and disgust. Its body is shiny, and I wonder if it's slimy and wet to the touch. Every so often a section of it twitches and bends. Fucking unnatural.

"Hey, asshole," Ymir pipes up; I jump at the loudness of her voice. "Polite people would offer their hand or something."

I don't hide the revulsion I feel at this concept, but Ymir is my only way home. Slowly, jerking it back reflexively every few seconds, I hold out my hand in a tentative offering.

The naga stares up at it like it's going to get bitten. "Ymir," it whispers frantically. "What am I supposed to do?"

It's got a deep teenager voice and a weird, foreign accent that folds over some words and utters some syllables too quickly, like its tongue is fat and cumbersome.

Ymir leans forward and takes its hand, guiding it up into mine. My breath catches as it draws near, but the reptilian chill I expect is absent, instead replaced by your standard warm human hand. The naga's palms are rough and callused and covered in a faint layer of dirt. I try not to visualize those black claws I saw earlier. Maybe they were just my imagination.

Like I'm waiting for one or both of us to explode, I shake its hand very slowly, staring at its wide, distorted eyes the entire time. I let go as quick as I can, wiping the dirt and the feeling of having touched the creature off on my trousers.

Ymir clears her throat. I swallow, taking a deep breath and glowering at the canopy of the trees behind the naga. Oh, look, a squirrel. "I'm sorry I scared you," I enunciate slowly in literally the most insincere tone that has ever escaped my mouth.

I almost expect the naga to say the same thing back, but I guess not. It stares at me like _I'm_ the naga. Well fuck you, then, snakebutt.

Ymir stands then, slinging her arm over the naga's shoulders and ruffling its hair roughly. "Was that so frigging hard?" she demands of me, glaring.

I see that stupid naga cowering under her arm like I'm going to eat it and I realize this is the most ridiculous situation I've ever had the misfortune of being in. Following someone into the woods does not warrant almost getting killed and then being stared at like _you're_ the crazy one. I didn't walk out of the village expecting anything more complicated than some mild stalking. I don't want to have to go back and _remember_ this shit happened.

And I'm pissed off, because Ymir expects me to play house with the naga that- . . . well, fuck, I guess she's pretending she didn't see it barreling after me through the woods. I had a near-death experience and I feel like I'm owed something, not glares and meaningless handshakes. The fucking thing didn't even know how to give a handshake, and she's calling it her sibling like I should believe her?

"Can I go now?" I ask.

If Ymir wants to pretend that thing's related to her to delude herself into feeling guiltless for keeping a secret pet, as well as telling nightmare stories to an entire village just for kicks, she and any credibility I held for her can fuck right off and do that.

The naga moves, and I flinch. It's shifting away from Ymir and gliding away; I keep staring at its shifting scales and thinking of the word "slippery," and its dumb brown scales _look_ wet and slippery and my palm tingles as I wipe it on my clothes again to get the imaginary slime off. The naga slinks to the tree line, shooting Ymir a glance.

"Wait here," Ymir tells me, and as she leaves I reluctantly sit, crossing my arms, irritated at being delayed. I want to go home and lock myself up in me and Thomas's room and never have any excitement ever again. I actually miss Thomas, if you can believe that.

I can't hear them from here. I try to imagine what they're talking about. _Hey, cute little naga, try not to eat anyone this week, okay?_ I snort, rubbing my hands; it's getting pretty dark, and the bugs are starting to sing.

Ymir comes back over and I stand. She says, "In case it wasn't fucking obvious, you completely just ruined my day."

"Wow, I'm _so_ sorry," I say sarcastically. I glance over; the naga is gone. "So this whole time you knew this naga was here? And you're its friend?"

"Sister," she says forcefully, "and yes. Do you have a fucking problem?"

Trick question, trick question like _whoa. _"No," I mutter untruthfully, not wanting her to cave my face in.

"Good." She goes up to me really close, like toe-to-toe close, and puts her hand on the top of my head, forcing me to face her. "Because if you tell anyone – and I mean _anyone_ – I will literally tear you apart. Got it? Not Reiner, not your mommy and daddy, not even yourself when you look in the goddamn mirror. As far as anyone knows, as far as _you_ know, you saw me walking in the woods and you turned in the other fucking direction. This day is going to fucking wipe itself from your memory. _Got_ it?"

She doesn't blink, doesn't stutter, doesn't look a millimeter from my eyes, and I swallow, knowing she is being absolutely honest. "Got it," I say quickly. I'd been debating between just forgetting this ever happened and telling the entire village, but this gentle argument (I'm lying) convinces me of the former.

Ymir smiles suddenly, crinkling up her eyes and wrinkling her nose, and it's so false and exaggerated that I shrink back. "Oh, good. Because I'll be around. And if you open your mouth, trust me. I'll know."

I swallow again, suddenly dry-mouthed. "I'm cool with that."

"This was a nice chat, Jim. Now start walking if you want to go home so badly." She gives my shoulder a shove.

**Friendly reminder that I am shit and this is shit and it's rushed and short because I want to make it easier for me to finish it.**

**Marco has a Belgian accent.**


	4. Stroller

**Stroller**

Ymir leaves me with a muttered, "Not a word," and a narrowed glare when we terminate our awkwardly silent traipse back with feet on civilized ground. Then she keeps on walking like we'd never spared each other a glance in our lives. Hell, I'm fine with that.

I head directly home, because it's not like I've got anywhere else to go, and devour dinner like there's no tomorrow. Then I collapse on my bed, ignoring Thomas, and sleep for about twelve hours.

Thomas has to throw a pillow to wake me up the next morning, and even after that I take an extra ten minutes to drag myself out of bed. Thomas shakes his head disapprovingly at me as he walks out, all dressed up already; I watch him go without managing to flip him off and think, _I know something you don't._

It's a bit surreal, walking to Reiner's for the day. I just keep looking around at these people and imagining them whispering, imagining them speculating, pondering, considering. How the hell had I ever been afraid of the naga? It's a frickin' kid. It's a teenager. A teenage snake. How fucking pathetic is that?

And it just drifts away.

It was one wild day I had, and I get over it. It devolves from a constant reminder that pops up whenever I see something that even _remotely_ reminds me of the naga (ropes become sinuous limbs, arrowheads fangs, knife hilts black claws) to a dull recollection in the back of my head. Ymir told me to forget, and it's easier than I thought it would be. I acknowledge that it happened, but that's all I do anymore.

So I ignore it. I get up, go to Reiner's, go home, and fuck around because I have nothing else to do until I get tired. Sometimes I have conversations with Thomas that never quite cross the threshold from forced and awkward into comfortable and companionable. Sometimes I help my mom cook, where she asks me every single time whether I've quit going to the bakery in favor of "honing my real skills," which neither of us can identify. Sometimes my dad and I sit together and talk idly about hunting, hunting, _hunting. _It's all there is. It's all I want.

The main thing I want to do is just get good enough to retire comfortably. My family's never had much of a financial crisis, but I'm the laziest fuck I know. A comfortable, careless life sounds like paradise to me. Be skilled at hunting in an early enough age, get enough respect and influence, and you nab yourself a spot in the chief's personal guard, where your food, income, and solidarity is basically handed to you on a silver platter. But the only way to really launch yourself down this slippery slope is to first gain respect. By hunting. Because that's all we do.

I would go practice archery behind my house, but I've already said I'm shit at it, and the last time I tried Eren fucking Jaeger found me and brought his little gang to witness me get steadily more frustrated with myself. I couldn't tell which was worse: having Eren watch me utterly fail at being skilled, or having Mikasa watch me. I quit it soon after that; there was no point in making myself look like an idiot when I obviously wasn't getting any better, and I'm way too full of my fucking self to ask someone to teach me.

Yeah, everything goes on as normal, except for one thing. I'm suddenly seeing a whole lot of Ymir. Like, before I hadn't really noticed her, you know? I mean, I would pass her on the street and barely care, except to acknowledge that this person is cool as hell. But now I just frickin' see her _everywhere. _We walk down the same roads. We sometimes find ourselves in the same houses at little get-togethers, maybe even the same rooms. We make eye contact all the time. I always make sure to look away as quickly as I can, but before I do I see that her face is impassive, as if I'm just any other teenage brat that won't stop staring admiringly at her.

And she goes out and hunts once a week like she's always done, except I'm the only one who really knows what's up. You're cool, Ymir, but I've got dirt on you.

Not that I'm going to say anything. If I open my mouth Ymir will probably eat me.

Besides, whatever, I'm not going to be the one to break the tenuous truce between us. If she wants to fuck off and, like, play tag with a naga or something, who am I to judge? It still makes me squirm when I overhear her telling her naga tale to a group of little kids, mainly because I'm a smarmy fuck and I want to pop in and be like, "Heeey, kids! _I_ know the truth!"

Another thing that sucks is that apparently my chocolate sweet bread is a big hit with Ymir, because she requested (to Reiner, not me) that I continue to bake it every week instead of him. The last thing I want is to further tie myself to her, and I was kind of hoping Reiner would get offended, but I forgot he's the most big-brotherly type this side of the mountains, and he saw it as me getting something right for once; he was ecstatic. Fuck.

Maybe I can lace the bread with laxatives or something.

. . . Nah, I like my body intact.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

I never really realized just how much people _talk_ about the naga on a daily basis. It's just kind of there, you know? Hi, welcome to our village, our main exports are meat and furs and we've got a naga to the north. Just a cute little quirk of ours, that we have a mythological beast living in the cliffs. People talk about it with a familiarity that borders on pride, as if it's actually the _village_ pet, and not just Ymir's. Hear something rustling in the woods? Oh-ho, it must be that wacky naga, the one we're going to laugh about as we hightail it in the other direction!

No one talks about it more than Hanji does, though. Hanji is fucking _weird. _She's a self-proclaimed scientist-surgeon, and when she's not doing weird-ass experiments on animals and plants she loves talking about shit like this. I heard she claims to have seen, all on separate occasions, a werecat, a herd of centaurs, and a Kanima, which you must douse in salt before believing, because to hear her tell these stories is like listening to a five-year-old recite a dream for all its surreality. At least Ymir's got her scars to lend some authenticity.

I hear her loud, nasally voice coming steadily closer one day as I'm making croissants (fucking sweet bread). Reiner's out in front, doing his favorite pastime of chatting up Bertholdt. I heard Reiner break off his conversation and say, "Hey, welcome, guys! Sticking around today? What can I get for you?"

Hanji just keeps talking about whatever it is she's talking about, but I hear another voice intone, "The usual." I peek my head out, wondering who in the hell would willingly spend time with Hanji. I duck my head back inside to hide a snort; Levi is literally the shortest guy you've ever seen, but he's also creepily quiet and intimidating, and he could probably kick ass, so I don't want to get caught making fun of him.

Reiner pops in, a big dumb grin on his face (that shit becomes permanent whenever Bertholdt is around). "Hey, three croissants and a Reiner Braun special, please," he rumbles, and withdraws. I roll my eyes. A "Reiner Braun special" is what he calls literally the nastiest thing any baker could ever endeavor to make. It's this ring of bread that's got nuts and oatmeal in it. I don't even know what it is. I make it every day and I still don't know what it is. I'm bringing it out to the counter and I still don't know what it is.

We have three stools in the front for when people just want to lounge around, and taking up two of them are Hanji and Levi. Hanji's talking Levi's ear off about something or other, her spectacles flashing as her head twitches to and fro in enthusiastic fervor; her hands flail out and whack Levi's shoulder more than once within a span of five seconds. Levi just sits there like a moody vulture staring at a wall and nodding every once in a while.

I set their stuff down in front of them, awkwardly smiling without showing teeth because I know Reiner's watching. He's trying to get me to be more sociable or some shit, and I guess that means he wants me to smile at everyone. I don't get _why. _I don't like people, and no one likes a fake smile.

"Come hang out here for a while," Reiner booms, throwing his arm out to block my way when I try to go back inside. I make a face at him and he gives me this look, like, _I know what you're thinking, so stop._

Reiner turns and galumphs back to Bertholdt, who never sits at the stools because he's convinced that existing literally anywhere is taking up too much space. I edge a bit toward them, close enough that it looks like I'm participating in whatever these two weirdos do, and lean against the wall with my arms crossed.

I think Levi's looking at me.

"They're not that fast, if you don't let them notice you," Bertholdt is currently murmuring.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to run after the fuckers! There's practically nothing on them, anyway. Ducks are better to catch."

"Ducks aren't as big . . ."

"Geese have fucking _teeth."_

"You're much bigger and stronger than a goose."

"That's easy for you to say; you're up in a tree the whole time!"

Like I said. Hunting.

Levi is definitely staring at me. What, am I that ugly or something?

I take advantage of Reiner's obnoxiously big bulk to sidle out of Levi's line of sight, but somehow I feel like he can still see me. From over here (or anywhere, really) I can hear Hanji's bubbly yawping.

"-seeks a master, but it was first translated as _friend, _so that lead to a whole _slew_ of misconceptions about it and what its motives are- but I saw it! I got close. Green as poison! It had a very short muzzle, but it also had pits, for heat-sensing, you know? Like a snake."

Uh oh. Here we go. She went and slipped and said the S-word. Prepare for the onslaught.

"And speaking of snakes, I heard Hitch ran into our naga last night," Hanji squeals excitedly, like she wants nothing more than it similarly run into the naga in the woods, alone, at night. "She said it was bigger than an elephant! Oh, what I wouldn't give to get my hands on that thing! I'd count its _scales, _I would! I wonder what color it is? Probably green, you know, to blend into the forest. Or gray, to blend into the cliffs!"

_It's brown, lady, _I have the overwhelming urge to say, but I manage to hold it in. Wow, Levi totally is staring at me. And it's really starting to creep me out.

"And I wonder what _kind_ of body it has," Hanji sighs, looking and sounding like she's talking about the love of her life. "Is it a _long _and _thin _body, or a _short _and _chubby _one, like a python's? Are its scales round or diagonal? Does it have snake or human eyes? What color is the human part's skin? Oooh, if only someone knew all these things! I'd pay _good money _to beg at their feet! So close, and yet so far!"

At this point her head is slumped in her arms, as if she's exhausted and can't hold up the weight of having such a needlessly and creepily curious mind any longer. And yeah, Levi is staring at me.

God, how my skin itches to be the presumptuous asshole I am and strut up to Hanji and amaze her with my intimate knowledge of all of these facts. _Long and thin, diamond-shaped, snake eyes, tan skin, _I say in a mantra in my head. _Weird accent. _

I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't. I really can't.

God, I'm such a showoff. My skin is crawling. Knowing something that an expert on the topic doesn't is a blessing and a curse.

Maybe I could drop some tantalizing hints.

The thought barely crosses my mind when my eyes alight on a face not even a mother could love, and it reminds me sharply of the line I'm currently toeing. Eren fucking Jaeger is walking up to the counter, a big wicker basket slung over his shoulder. Ymir's apprentice. Great. My skin crawls now for a different reason as I realize I'd actually been tempted to divulge the big naga secret.

Eren marches up to Reiner, shooting me a disdainful glance, and opens his wicker basket to reach inside. "You order this?" he asks, withdrawing from its depths a little wicker figurine of a rearing horse. Wow, wicker within wicker. How cute.

Reiner perks up in delight. "I sure did!" he booms, snatching it up eagerly. He turns to Bertholdt. "Isn't it adorable?"

"Aww, Reiner, that's really nice of you," Eren says, glancing at me, "getting a little thing of your employee."

"Shut up, Jaeger." I hate being called Horseface. It's not my fault my face is long.

Reiner obviously doesn't hear Eren (he never hears anything but Bertholdt most of the time) so that rules out him defending me. Great. Having a great big blonde bodyguard friend would come in lots more handy if the great big blonde bodyguard isn't fucking smitten half the time.

"How's baking coming along? I bet you really save some lives with cute little garlic knots."

"At least I do my job _right,_" I snap viciously, glaring at him. "I hear Ymir has to keep fixing your stupid mistakes."

"Yeah, but," Eren snorts. _"Ymir. _No offense to Reiner, but my boss is Ymir. It must be hard on you, you know, seeing me being trained by someone like Ymir while Reiner teaches you a hundred and one ways to get flour on yourself."

"Reiner's awesome," I say hotly, even though I basically think the exact same thing, like, all the time. "And oh, wow, what a big deal that Ymir is teaching you how to play with sticks. A three year old could play with sticks."

"A three year old can't make a little figure that looks exactly like you, though," Eren says smugly.

At this point Reiner finally stops fawning over the dumb little horse and reaches into his pocket for some money, which he hands over to the still-smiling Eren, who shoots me one last look and walks away.

Ugh, what a bitch. How does anyone even _stand _that guy?

Levi's eyes are practically burning a hole in the side of my head.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

There aren't any customers for, like, another hour, so Reiner tells me to take the rest of the day off. To anyone else this'd be all great and fine and stuff (woo, go teenagers, live like you're dying), but I'm too ashamed to admit to Reiner that the bakery is literally the only thing that gets me out of the house. So when he lets me go early, it's with only a halfhearted whoop that I hang up my apron, discard my thick mitts, and troop out.

I make an effort to look purposeful, at least. I straighten my back and try to look disinterested, like any other teenager with nothing better to do, you know? Not like I'm actually just trying to take my sweet time home. Every minute more I spend strolling down a street, hands in my pockets, chin tilted up, eyes half-lidded, is another minute I don't have to spend moping around the house like a loser.

I hear loud laughter and turn my head to see a short bald kid swinging on a low tree limb with a ponytailed girl. They see me and wave quickly before returning their attention to each other. Sasha and Connie really need to get it over with and bone. I barely talk to them anymore and even _I_ realize that.

We used to be friends when we were younger. We had this big old group, with me, the Eren-Mikasa-Armin trio, and those two loons. We did everything together, let me tell you. We played pranks all the time. Woke up with your house covered in raw bacon? That was us. Dug that bacon under your porch so your dogs would go nuts? Also us. Threw balls of bacon at each other instead of snowballs? Take a guess.

We had a lot of bacon to spare, before you ask. Sasha's the daughter of a butcher. She eats more than the village combined.

I can't remember exactly what made me stop being friends with them. I don't really know what happened. We were like peas in a pod until we were thirteen, and then we started drifting away.

Or, at least, _I_ drifted away. I don't like to think about it, but the guys seem as close as ever.

Whatever. It's not like I constantly need a group of people to be around. I'm fine being on my own. It's a solo act, see. Chicks dig it. Mikasa will surely be lured in by my mysterious loner looks and lifestyle. Any day now.

Cane the dog lifts her big bulky head as I walk in my house, sniffing in a disinterested manner, before settling her nose back in between her paws. We don't really pay attention to each other, except when I occasionally pass by and call her a slut. I don't really know why I continue to call her that, considering she's a dog. Cane went through a phase when she was a couple of years younger where literally everyone wanted to breed their dog with her, so she had, like, sixty litters of puppies. The puppies were cute, but we never got to keep any. But yeah. Now she's the resident slut to me. I see a lot of her babies romping around the streets sometimes.

It's quiet. Mom's probably out hunting, Dad's probably out shooting, and Thomas must be home, because he never leaves the house without Cane. I walk in circles for a while. I sit on a chair for a few minutes, staring into space. I go over and poke Cane, but she gives me this confused look, so I go back and pace for a few minutes before finally just giving up and going to my room.

Thomas is sitting on his bed, stitching the leg of a pair of trousers. He doesn't acknowledge me walking in, and I don't acknowledge him.

I take my shoe off and let it thunk to the floor. "Can you be a little quieter, please," Thomas drones, not looking up from his stitching.

"Whatever," I grunt, letting the other shoe fall just as loud. I kick them into a corner, where they lie in disarray with a bunch of my other stuff. I take my time undressing and putting on more comfortable clothes before flopping on my bed with a sigh.

"Can you pick that up?" Thomas asks, pointing his needle at my discarded shirt on the floor. "It's on my side of the room."

"Why don't you do it? You're closer."

"Yeah, but it's yours."

"It'll take you two seconds. Just toss it over."

"I'm not cleaning up after you."

"Literally two seconds, oh my god! Then it won't bother you anymore."

Thomas just sighs and rolls his eyes skyward, like he can't think of anything more annoying than being in a room with me right now. He folds up the stitched trousers and stands up. "Are you going to bed right now? Really? It's still light out."

"I'm tired," I grumble.

"Tired from what? All you do is nap and bake."

"Baking's more work than it sounds like," I snap. "You wouldn't know."

"Whatever," Thomas sighs, walking toward the door. "I'm not picking your shirt up."

"You just walked past it!" I yell after him. "You're the one who wanted it picked up in the first place!" He shuts the door behind him.

He literally walked right past it. He practically walked on it. I fume for a minute or two before deciding it isn't worth fuming over. Whatever. I'll pick it up tomorrow morning when I get up.

Damn, it _is_ still light out.

I tug the covers over my head, stretching out to encompass my whole bed. I can't sleep all scrunched up. I need space.

My thoughts return to Ymir, as they often tend to lately. I mean, I don't obsess over it, but I kind of just idly think about that day. How pathetic the (slippery) naga acted. How it played with Ymir. How Ymir threatened me with horrible death and dismemberment if I ever even attempted to divulge the big secret living in the northwestern cliffs.

I set my jaw firmly. I was tempted today, but there is no way I am going to be the one to change this. No chance am_ I_ going to break the silence first.


	5. Sequester

**Sequester**

It's actually Ymir who breaks the silence first.

I'm just doing what I was told, minding my own business as I bake some bread, and I turn around to grab some cinnamon when I see her standing right behind me.

I just freeze, staring at her. "What the fuck," I blurt out. "You're not allowed back here."

And then I realize that I am alone, with no one else, in a room with Ymir, who is batshit enough to maybe kill me to keep me quiet. "I didn't say a fuckin' word," I say immediately, raising my palms as if this makes me more convincing. "Swear to god."

"Relax," Ymir grunts, sauntering forward. "I know you didn't. I need a favor."

I blink rapidly at that, tilting my head at her. A favor. Ymir needs a favor from me. "L-Like what? What makes you think I'd do anything fooorr . . . okay you can, uh, put your fist away."

Ymir lowers her bunched fingers. "Do you remember the way to that clearing?"

I don't have to ask what _that clearing _is. "Uh, I guess?"

Ymir nods. "Good. I need you to go talk to him."

I kind of stare at her for a while before the words really hit me. "Wait, _him _as in the _naga?" _

"Who do you think, dumbass? I can't make it up there today; Nile's all up in my ass about something, and you need to go tell Marco I can't come."

"Why?" I demand.

"Because I fucking said so, all right?" Ymir says exasperatedly. "You're now the only one besides me who knows where Marco is, so I can't exactly ask anyone else, can I?"

"What, the naga can't go a week without seeing you?" I demand. "Can't it just jump to the conclusion that you were busy and go on its merry naga way?"

Ymir gives me a withering look, and it occurs to me that maybe jokes aren't the best avenue. "He can, idiot, and he has before. But he's been a bit paranoid about me ever since a certain _someone _followed me right _to _him. Nice job, by the way. If I don't show up he might flip."

"And you want _me_ to be there when he does?" I ask incredulously. Aww, I hurt the baby naga's feelings. Ask me if I care. "Fuck that! It'll chase me down again and actually kill me this time!"

"As long as you talk to him he's fine, for god's sake. He only transformed that one time because neither of us were expecting you to be there, which you _shouldn't _have been."

I dimly register that _transformed _is a weird word to use, but the imminent task before me overshadows my curiosity at her diction. "I don't want to do this."

"Too bad," says Ymir, shrugging. "I don't have anyone else to ask."

"I thought you told me to forget I ever saw the naga?" I point out, trying to get her to bend under her own rule.

"And you've been very good about that, Jim, but that was before Niles decided he wanted me to watch his pasty ass wherever he goes. Look, you wuss, all you have to do is stop by, tell my Marco I won't be coming, and then leave. It won't even take you an hour."

It's a little disturbing hearing her talk about the Chief like that; I mean, Niles Dok _is_ pretty pasty, but you don't go around yelling about it. The bakery has thin walls, and Niles a brigade of burly bodyguards. "I'm at work. I can't just leave Reiner."

"I just talked to Reiner," Ymir drones. "He says it's fine if you take off for a little bit. He could, you know, actually bake some of the shit at his own bakery instead of flirting with tall dark and sweaty out there."

_Shit. _There goes Reiner saving me. "But I don't _want_ to," I whine.

"Oh my god, are you literally five years old?"

"Okay, okay, just listen," I interrupt, raising my hands to silence her. "You've got to remember that last time I saw the thing, it shrieked at me and chased me. What the hell makes you think I want to go back there? What if it takes one look and starts trying to eat me again? You're not going to be around to stop it this time."

Ymir glowers at me. "It won't happen again. That one time was a mistake."

"How do you _know?_"

"Because it was! You think you know my Marco better than _I _know my Marco? I literally do not have time to argue with you, John. If I don't hightail it over to the barracks right fuckin' now, I'll probably get arrested or some stupid shit. I'll walk your pussy ass to the woods if it makes you feel better."

Ymir is not tall. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's the tiniest bit shorter than me. But holy hell, do I shrink away at how malcontent she looks. I'm not the most patient guy, and I know how people wasting your time bites.

Ymir chomps her lip (no, not chews, as in she's anxious; she fucking _chomps it_), humming thoughtfully, then shrugs. "I guess I'll just have to get Eren to do it."

It's like she just took out a sledgehammer and whaled me with it. She has unknowingly rung my death bell. "Eren knows? Okay, listen, I never said I _wouldn't _do it, just that I didn't _want_ to."

A smirk crawls its way up the side of Ymir's mouth. "So you will, then?"

"I guess? Fucking fine, just . . . you _owe _me. You owe me so much."

Ymir nods in satisfaction. "Knew you would. Still need an escort?"

"No," I say hurriedly, trying hard not to imagine how it would look if someone like Eren fucking Jaeger saw Ymir walking me to the woods like I need someone to hold my goddamn hand. "Whatever. So . . . just, what do I do? How do I find him?"

Oh god, I'm signing my own death sentence. I'm asking for instruction. I'm actually going to do this. I am getting even more entangled in this fucking shit that I didn't need to know about in the first place.

"Get to that log and whistle loud and clear, Jimbles. He'll come. If all else fails, remember that I tripped over a snake in the garden. I'm going to head out now. You lay a ill-intentioned finger on a single fiber of my brother's hair, I just might kill you, you got that?"

"Got it," I grumble, feeling relieved as she turns to leave. Whatever the fuck she said about tripping over snakes or some wild shit is beyond me. Then I remember something. "Hey, wait, you forgot these," I call, stooping under the counter to grab the wrapped bundle of her gross-ass chocolate rolls I baked in preparation for her coming. I toss them to her and she catches it out of reflex.

She stares at it for a moment, then back at me. "The fuck is this?"

"Your chocolate."

Then, at grievous cost to both my baker's pride and what I'd thought was my perception of other people, Ymir's face wrinkles in disgust that perfectly mirrors mine. "Ew, why the fuck would I want these?"

"Wh- you take them every week!"

Ymir flicks her wrist, haphazardly tossing the rolls back at the general vicinity of my shins. I just barely manage to scoop them out of the air, affronted. "What the hell?"

"_I _don't like that shit, ugh. Sweet bread is fucking disgusting. They're for Marco; he loves these things. Take them with you."

She walks out before she can see my gaping mouth. I'm really glad Reiner isn't here because it looks like my jaw's dislocated. I do math in my head (a feat, I know), my lips mouthing numbers.

Holy fucking god. Reiner and I have been inadvertently baking chocolate rolls for the naga for _years._

Ymir pops her head back in, grinning, making me jump. "By the way," she chirps, "Eren has no clue about Marco. Bye bye!" And with that, her head withdraws and she disappears.

"Mother fucker," I murmur to the empty room. The shelves and lightly powdered rows of pastries don't seem to want to answer me.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v

I'm a fucking idiot.

I literally am. I cannot, physically or mentally, imagine what the fuck was going through my head when I agreed to this. Ymir even explicitly _said _I was the only one who knew about the naga's true nature, and yet I believed her when she contradicted it not two seconds later because she said the magic word: Eren.

I'm so angry at myself as I stomp through the woods it's not even funny. I went into the forest the same way Ymir did, due east, and I had the good sense to make sure someone was around when I first entered the forest, because when I inevitably don't return I'm going to need some definite witnesses. _Oh hey, yeah, we saw the incredibly hot and mysteriously lonesome Jean Kirschtein go in the woods right here. His sorry ass hasn't been seen in three days? I bet something went down. We'd better get the _entire_ village together to organize a search party. God knows what this little hamlet would be without that hot body walking the streets. _

When they find my bitten- and scratched-up remains I hope Mikasa weeps over my body and how she was an idiot for not getting in my pants when she could have.

Unless it swallows me whole. Don't snakes swallow you whole? Oh, Christ, don't think about it.

I'm walking way faster than I did the first time I stalked this path, which consisted of rolling and ducking behind Ymir, pretty much throwing my back with the effort of remaining unseen. I glance behind me, trying to see if it really is all that plausible that I could've snuck behind Ymir for so long. The vegetation is thinner than it was weeks ago, so it's kind of hard to tell. But it seems Ymir is so confident in her scary storytelling abilities that she didn't even think to make sure she wasn't being tailed, or she's an idiot, or I'm just that stealthy. Probably the first one.

I should've brought a satchel or something. Holding this bundle of rolls is getting old.

Maybe if I pretend I got lost, Ymir won't blame me for turning around now.

. . . Yet I still keep walking. Fuck me.

I stop and peer up through the nodding canopy to check the sun. In a society like ours, surrounded by thick foliage, one of the first skills kids are universally taught is how to distinguish where you are by the position of the sun. You can give a nine year old a piece of paper and ask her to plot the trajectory of the sun of every day of the year and she'll be able to do it perfectly (writing her name is another matter; reading and writing aren't all that big here).

It's barely midday. I barely started my workday with Reiner. How Ymir had managed to convince him to let me go for an hour or two is beyond me. She probably threatened him. Punched him. Hell, maybe she blew him.

Oh. Ew. No no no, I'm not going to think about that.

Ew. Ew. Ew. It's like imagining your parents having sex.

I glance up at the sun again, then at the blue mountaintops that are only just visible past the twitching and hissing leaves. It's probably time to turn to the right now if I want to get to the cliffs, as much as I _don't_ want to, but like a good little soldier I trudge to the right. Ymir owes me. She owes me like hell.

I've never walked so much in the woods before. I mean, a lot of kids get taken on some minor hunting trips, but those are just to assess our skills and see what we've got. Eren and Mikasa and the rest of our gang were all together on these trips, usually, when we were twelve or thirteen. When it became pretty obvious that most of us lacked any sort of talent whatsoever (except Mikasa, of course), those trips ended pretty early in favor of our parents taking over. It's technically your parents' responsibility to make sure you're not a useless lump. Dad's the only one who knows how to shoot in our family, but our lessons didn't go very well. I don't know. He's impatient.

He wanted (and still wants) me to go with someone else he considers better. Hunting parties are usually public affairs, and gather in the square before disembarking for anyone to join in. Minors have to ask first, though, and can easily get refused. Dad wants me to "learn from the masters" or whatever, so I guess that means he doesn't want to deal with me and just wants to hand me off to someone else. Thanks, pop.

Predictably, I still don't know how to do shit, because I'm a lazy ass. But that's okay, I guess. I'm only fifteen; I've got time.

Walking in the woods is a lot more tedious than you'd think. Birds twitter and branches rustle, twigs and leaves snap underfoot with every thunderous step, and everything is green. What else is new.

The more I walk, the more I'm aware that I just have further to run if (when?) the naga decides to give chase. Disbelief and denial sets in once again as my eyes dart around, checking desperately to see if anything moves suspiciously.

Ymir owes me so much.

Resentment makes me a little more pissed than I would be normally. If all had gone according to plan, I would've seen Ymir hunt and magically absorb her amazing killing abilities. No, instead, I almost die, and now I've got no plan about how to improve my standing at all.

And there it is, the clearing. The branches thin, and sunlight peeks liberally through the tree trunks. If I squint I can see a blurry shape in the distance, a line of gray against the shifting lime-green grass.

Paranoia returns, slithering up and down my spine with a cold tingle. I glance over both my shoulders hurriedly, scanning the forest nervously. I don't see any naga, but I'm going to soon. Oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually here. _Alone._

I scurry to a tree at the edge of the clearing, peeking around it, swallowing anxiously. My heart hammers in my chest, clattering my teeth together with every beat. The birdsong has quieted here, as if the birds are all holding their tiny breaths, waiting for one arrival to become two.

Slowly, with deliberate footsteps, I tiptoe into the clearing, my ears pricked for any noise. As the log grows nearer I trot to it, leaning against it gratefully upon reaching it, needing something big to put me between myself and . . . whatever. Whatever might come.

I sit on the very edge of the log, my knees wobbling a little bit, ready to spring up if anything makes a single goddamn sound. Oh god, what's the last thing I said to my mom and dad? I can't remember. I never picked up that shirt that was on Thomas's side of the room. Holy wow, do I wish I'm there.

I lick my lips nervously, sparing a few more glances over my shoulder. _Well, might as well get it over with, _I decide gloomily, and raise my hand to my mouth. I stall for another minute like the wuss I am, clenching and unclenching my hand, before deciding, _Fuck it, I'm Jean motherfucking Kirschtein! _and, bringing my fingers to my lips, let loose a piercing whistle.

Well, fuck. I went and did it. No turning back now. I grit my teeth and chuckle nervously to myself. "Nice work, Kirschtein, nice _nice_ job," I mutter to myself. "We're going to rock this. Let's gooo."

My stomach is in knots, my sides shaking. My fingers worry at the package of chocolate rolls in my hands, turning it over and over in agitation. _Ymir couldn't come today. Ymir couldn't come today. Ymir asked me to come and tell you this. Have a nice day. Ymir tripped over a snake in the garden. Have a nice day._

_Crunch. _I jump a foot in the air, nearly falling off the log in my haste to look around wildly. I'm still alone. Adrenaline races through my body, electricity throbbing painfully through my chest and fingers. My guts are wrapped tightly in a knot, and my heart feels like it's trying to vault right out of my throat.

I look down. My hands are wrapped tight around the pastries, one hand clutched in a tighter fist than the other, and I realize that all I'd done was crush a roll through the packaging in agitation.

I breathe out a shaky chuckle. Wow, way to go, Kirschtein. You scared the shit out of yourself because you made a pastry explode with your bare hands. Way to fucking go.

I look up. The naga stares back at me.

"_Fucking _Christ," I blurt out tremulously, staggering to my feet. The naga shrinks back, its dark eyes wide and fleeting. I scramble to the top of the log, following some instinctual need in the face of an adversary to get to higher ground. How the fuck did it just sneak _up _on me like that? Oh god, it's right _there._

We stare at each other.

The naga's not even fifteen feet away, low to the ground, its back hunched and hands wringing, pretty much the same position as when I'd last seen it. It's crouched so low that it looks like a bowed torso sticking out of the ground. It stares at me like I'm a killer, and I see its throat jump a little as it swallows jerkily. Its long shiny tail writhes at the end far behind it, and I hope that doesn't mean the same thing as when a cat wiggles its rump.

I'm supposed to be saying something. I know I am. I'm standing on this log like a loser, clutching those dumb chocolate pastries to my chest like they can protect me, leaning back so far I'm almost toppling backwards. "Uh," I begin eloquently. "Uh . . ."

The naga's eyes, shadowed by its dark hair, flit over my face, my hands, my whole body. It never blinks. It's picking at its fingers, and I can see them visibly shaking. It glances at the ground, then to the side, then back up at me before it swallows again. It starts moving forward.

If it's even possible, I lean further back. Why the _fuck _is it approaching? Why's it doing it so slowly? Is it taunting me? I shuffle backwards, letting out an exclamation and flailing when one of my feet slips off the surface of the log before regaining my balance. The naga falters at the sound of my sharp utterance, then continues its smooth glide. God, the movement is so _unnatural. _No bobbing, just a slow, slippery slide.

I bend my legs, my knees wobbling so hard I feel like I'm about to keel right over, ready to jump away if it gets too close or I see any sudden movements. It's the weirdest fucking thing to see it move in such a way, and it must be only possible because of its snake half, which I guess is much more flexible. Its human and snake halves are practically at a right angle, like if it has human legs they'd just disappear into the ground.

"D-Don't," I stutter, my jaw so tight it hurts, as the naga draws so close I could touch it if I leaned forward and reached. I can count the freckles on its face; I can track the brown-to-blue gradient of its eyes. Its nose is really round. I need a supervisor. _I need a supervisor. _I need Ymir to be here to rein the thing back. My heartbeat thunders through my ears, shaking my temples. My tongue and jaw hurt.

I freeze as it slowly starts raising itself, its snake half steadily feeding its ascension, its light plated belly absurdly shiny and silver. The edges of its belly scales lift off its body a little, like you could put your finger in there and just tear it off. Maybe I could totally do that, you know, as a self-defense thing. If I could bring myself to touch it even for a second.

The naga stops when we're at eye level, its mouth set in a firm line, its eyes still tremulously wide. I almost wish it would just fucking _blink. _I'm holding the pastries in both hands, raised a little to the side, like I'm about to swing them. Yeah, that's rich, I'm going to defend myself from a giant snake monster with fucking bread.

Slowly, shakily, the naga raises its hand to hover outstretched between our chests.

My eyes dart between its hand and its face, trying to guess what the fuck it thinks it's doing. It's like it's about to poke me with four fingers. What the fuck. Someone get this thing away from me. Why am I standing _on _the log and not on the other side so something's nicely in between us?

The naga's brow furrows, and it glances between its hand and me. "Th-" it chokes, then falls silent.

"Wha?" slips out of my mouth.

"The . . . hand. Thing," it stutters. "With the . . . the . . ." It trails off into a strangled whisper. Its outstretched hand moves stiffly up, then stiffly down, the motion deliberate and awkward, looking obviously unpracticed.

Oh, shit. "Uh," I say, swallowing. "A . . . handshake?"

"Hand . . . shake," it parrots, its clumsy accent turning the word into a messy, thick-tongued string of stretched vowels. "Um . . . that."

It moves its freckled hand toward me again, just an inch or two, biting its lip. I open my mouth, not even sure of what to say or how to speak. What, am I that popular that the naga wants a _second _handshake? I don't want to touch it again.

I don't want to argue with it. It's not _my _responsibility to teach it manners. But judging by what I can discern from its human face, it's getting even more agitated, though I can't tell if it's from impatience or anxiety. It fidgets, clenching and unclenching its hand. It's obviously just as scared as I am, but scared animals lash out.

I think about black claws and gulp noisily. Keeping a grip on the package of chocolate disgustingness with my left hand, I slowly proffer my right in grudging invitation. Our hands meet awkwardly in the middle, grasping lightly for a few seconds as we once again act out the tensest handshake the world has ever known. Its hand is drier than bone. We both let go really quickly, and I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my trousers. No use offending the thing when it's staring right at me.

It lowers itself back down, gliding backward until there's a respectable distance between us. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Um," it says, beginning to wring its hands again. "Where's, um, where's Ymir?"

"She, uh," I begin, then cough. This is what I'm here for. "Ymir, she, uh . . . told me to come here to tell _you _that . . . she can't make it today. She got held up, you know, had to do something else . . ."

The naga slumps at my words, then looks at me with a little less fear than before. "She told you?"

"Mm-hmm," I hum, nodding slowly. "So, uh, don't expect her or anything."

The naga tilts its head stiffly, staring at me. Okay, that's not creepy at all. "Did you do something to her?"

"What?"

"Ymir. Did you do something to her?" it asks steadily.

"What do you mean, do something to her?" I ask, unnerved. The naga doesn't look very scared right now. Actually, it looks kind of . . . aggressive. "She literally just went up to me and told me to tell you this. I mean, I was at _work, _for god's sake, and the day had barely even started, so-"

Whoa, okay, the snake's definitely a little bit closer than it was two seconds ago. This is not okay. This is really not okay. "Uh . . . what're you- yo, um, can you stop doing that? Please?"

It's inching forward bit by bit, staring really creepily at me, its eyes hard and glittering and mouth set, a creepy tilt to its head. Oh god, what did I say? "Whoa, okay, stop," I mutter hurriedly, leaning back again. "I'm serious! I-I'm not lying, she- she walked in and was like, I don't know, talking about- about whistling and shit, and Niles- and then she called me Jimbles, and some weird shit about tripping over snakes or something, I don't know-"

The naga stops, brow raised. "What did you say?"

"Wha? She-" Oh. "She told me, like, if everything fails or something, to remember that she tripped over a snake once. In a garden." I screw up my face in confusion. "I don't know what the fuck she was talking about."

The snake's staring into space, which is good, because then it's not staring at me like it wants to swallow me. "Oh. Okay." Some of the tension drains out of its shoulders and I let out a shaky breath in relief. Whatever I said, whatever that random-ass phrase means, it subdued the creature. It looked like it was actually going to attack me. I'm going to kill Ymir, I swear to god.

"'Oh, okay?'" I repeat incredulously. "Were you- actually, you know, never mind. Look, uh, here," I mutter, holding up the package, eager to get home. "You want these?"

The snake perks up immediately, its eyes bright, and it actually smiles a little. "Yes! Um, if that's okay."

"I don't want 'em," I grumble, doing that little hand gesture that indicates I'm going to toss the package. When I let it fly toward the naga – a nice gentle underhand throw, you know, easily catchable – it doesn't move at all, and just kind of watches it arc closer until it whacks it in the chest and falls to the ground. The naga stares down at it blankly, then back at me.

Holy fuck, this bitch doesn't even know how to catch things. "Uh, I thought you were going to grab that."

"Oh," it mumbles dumbly, and stoops to pick up the package. "Um . . . thank you."

What, does Ymir not throw stuff at it? All right. Whatever. I don't judge. I'm not here to judge these crazy fucking people. I'm actually free to go home. I slowly step down from the log, swallowing. "So," I try to say perkily. "I'm just going to . . . go . . . now."

The naga stares at me, now clutching the package to its chest kind of like how I was before. It nods stiffly, sidling away from me, the loops of its scales sliding sideways, flattening grass. Holy Christ, its body is so _long, _winding and shiny through the tall grass_. _How does it even keep track of all that? I can barely run without tripping over my goddamn feet.

"Oh, mm . . . okay," it says quietly, avoiding eye contact with me. _Fuck yeah, _I think, starting to walk a little faster right the fuck out of there, kind of halfway facing it, you know? I'm not comfortable with turning my back to it, even though I look like an idiot with my chest twisted sideways. I'm practically to the tree line when I hear behind me, "W-Wait!"

Oh my _Christ, _what. I freeze, slowly turning my head to look at it. "Y-Yeah?"

The naga looks even more uncomfortable than it usually does. It's turned around to face me, its tail coiled all around its human torso like a roll of rope. "Uh," it says dumbly. "Can . . . can you help me with something?" It winces immediately once the words are out of its mouth. "I mean, I'm sorry, I was going to ask Ymir but she's not here . . ."

"Help with what?" I croak, feeling glued to the ground, seriously hoping it's something I can refuse. I wonder if Reiner is annoyed with me by now, even if he's the nicest guy ever. Everyone's got their limits. Not to mention the fact that I really _really _am feeling the urge to just tell the thing to fuck off and start running. I'm starting to hate the woods.

"There's this . . . tree," the snake says slowly, and I just want to yell at it to hurry up already. "It was dead, but I guess there was a storm last night because it toppled and fell . . . and it's blocking a _path _I really need to, um, get to. Er . . . do you think you could help me get it out of the way?" It adds hurriedly, its hands splayed for what I guess is reassurance, "You don't have to, really, it's just that I guess Ymir won't be here for another week, and I've been trying to move it by myself all morning but I can't . . . really . . . yeah." It trails off lamely, staring at the ground again, its brows furrowed.

You've got to be kidding me. I blink hard, staring around at the forest, clenching and unclenching my hands. God, I just want to go home, and nothing this naga says or does will make me forget what exactly happened the first time we saw each other. Ymir can bullshit all she wants, but I remember jaws that opened so far they hid a collarbone and claws longer than my fingers, and that kind of shit doesn't make you eager to hand out favors.

But that shit also makes you remember it at the worst and best possible times. Like right now, when I'm wondering just how the naga will react if I say no.

Sure, it looks shy and innocent and whatever now, but it did before when it was playing with Ymir, and when it offered me that handshake just now. And look how quickly it turned from that kind of innocence to a sudden threat. In my head I see eyes so glassy they seem blind, and a tilt of its head that's way too uncanny.

I don't really want to spend more time with it. I want to get the fuck out of here so I don't have yet another chance to fuck stuff up. But . . . it backed off when I recited that weird phrase. Maybe it's a kind of code, telling it to calm the fuck down and please do not attack the speaker. Or probably just reassurance that I have Ymir's seal of approval. Either one works.

I chance a look back at the snake. Its lips are pulled back and down in distress, and I get the impression that if it possessed feet it would be shuffling them. It glances up at me bashfully from under its dark bangs, and we both simultaneously look away awkwardly upon eye contact.

"Well, uh . . . how long will it take?" I ask finally.

The naga shakes its head. "Not long. I just need to get it out of the way, that's- that's all."

"I really should get going. . . ."

"I-It won't even take a few minutes, but . . ."

Okay, now it just looks like a kicked puppy.

"You're sure you can't do it on your own?" I mumble halfheartedly, feeling defeat creep up on me, nudging a mound of dirt with my foot. I'm just getting pushed around by freckled losers today, aren't I?

It shrugs slowly, starting to play with its fingers again. "I tried, but it's a sort of job that needs two people . . . doing it. If . . . that makes any sense."

I can barely understand what the fuck it's saying because of its accent. I roll my eyes skyward one last time, as if begging a giant bird to swoop upon us and take me home (or eat me, I really don't care), before sighing and edging forward a little. "Well, all right then. Whatever."

The naga perks up like it can't believe I said yes. _I _can't believe I said yes. "R-Really? Great! T-Thank you!" It draws its hands up into fists by its ribs, shaking them in excitement like a child; I see a flurry of movement in the grass and realize the tip of its brown tail is doing the same thing, writhing around in the same unchecked enthusiasm.

We stare at each other in silence for a long moment, my face blank and its lightly beaming. Birds chatter noisily around us, and a cricket chooses to sing us a raspy song. "So, uh, where's this tree?" I ask after a full ten seconds pass by.

"Oh! Right," the naga sputters, and, suddenly putting the bag in its mouth, it whirls, moving quickly in its awkwardness, and the movement is jarring and makes my hair stand on end. The naga slithers to the tree line with a swiftness that's extremely creepy, its long body weaving large slippery arcs through the grass, its human torso very close to the ground. It walks on its hands, as if it's moving on all fours if it isn't half snake, the bag of pastries hanging from its mouth almost comically. It seems to realize that it just completely left me behind because it rears its torso back up and regards me sheepishly, taking the package out of its mouth and making a pathetic little hand gesture that might've been beckoning.

Well, I'm glad I didn't decide to tell it to fuck itself and run. That shit is _fast._

I swallow again for the fifteenth time today and march after it, stiff and rigid, trying not to feel like I'm getting wrapped up in more shit than I want to deal with. When I'm almost at its tail the snake turns and heads into the woods, the shadows of the trees flashing patterns on its banded scales, turning different sections of its body black or brown. I try not to think about the fact that we're heading even farther north, pretty much the exact opposite of the way I _want _to go. Whatever, it's not a big deal. I'm just helping this dumb snake out. I'm being a nice person. Oh, Eren, you built a little horse figure for Reiner's amusement? Aren't you cute. A snake monster asked me for help and I graciously said yes. Now _that's _kindness.

I'm trying to think of a possible way to spin this in my favor with Mikasa while simultaneously trying to ignore the fact that the naga keeps turning its head to look at me sheepishly from the corner of its dark eyes, averting its gaze quickly when I notice it. Holy shit, isn't it annoying, moving forward and weaving like that at the same time? Is it really that hard to, like, slither straight?

I kind of want to ask what the hell its problem is that it would see me for the first time and chase me with claws and fangs and shit, but I swallow the words as quickly as I think about them. Asking what all that was about might . . . I don't know, induce the same state, I guess. I just have a bad feeling about reminding it of its berserk actions.

Leaves rustle noisily under its winding body, and I guess it must be super heavy because it leaves a trail of flattened soil behind it. I stumble along behind it and a little to the side, trying not to trip over thick brambles. Wherever we're going, it's obviously been untraveled by anyone except the naga, because the bushes are thick and intricately linked here, with no sign of a path anywhere. A tangle of thorns scrapes against my ankle, stinging me momentarily, and I grumble something as I yank my foot out of there.

The naga looks at me curiously, and I glare back until it looks away. _It _has no trouble plowing through all this, I see. It just flattens the brush underneath its thick scales, and it doesn't seem to hurt the thing any, because it's not taking care to avoid less than optimal sharp objects. It must be weird, having skin so hard you can't even feel thorns. Especially on your stomach, too. I can't even handle blunt objects on my stomach. I'm ticklish. Don't tell anyone.

The naga's hands crumple the bag up noisily, its fingers working anxiously. It glances at me, then down, then at me again, like it can't bring itself to say something. It slows down a little, moving a little more in a smooth straight line. "Um," it croaks, staring at its hands. "I don't know if- if Ymir told you . . . or anything, but . . . my name's Marco."

"She told me," I grunt, and let silence fall.

The snake doesn't seem to want to, though. Its lips are all bunched up, like it's trying to keep itself from speaking, before it blurts out loudly, "What's your name?"

"Jean," I grumble lowly, hoping it heard so I don't have to repeat myself.

"Jjjeeaan," it repeats slowly. Oh my god, its accent is _butchering _my name. "Jean. Jean! That's a nice name," it says enthusiastically. I just grunt in reply.

The naga lifts the package of pastries up to its chest uncertainly, looking at me. "Um, can I eat these?"

What the fuck. "They're yours."

"Okay . . . thanks," it mumbles, and keeps staring at me like it's waiting for me to yell at it for doing something wrong as it slowly opens the bag. The paper crinkles tediously, and the hair on my neck stands up; Christ, it's easier to just tear the damn thing open and get it over with.

Slowly, very slowly, painfully slowly, the naga reaches in the bag, still staring at me like I might attack it. It takes out a roll (literally how the fuck does anyone like sweet bread) and brings it up to its mouth. Wow, if I thought the sound of crinkling paper was annoying, the crunch as the naga takes the most sluggish bite the world has ever known is way worse.

"Why are you staring at me?" I ask, trying to mask my nervousness (and almost tripping over a fucking root because I'm distracted), because don't wild animals stare at your eyes when they're about to attack or some shit?

The naga jolts, like it hadn't realized what it was doing. "Oh, sorry," it squeaks, mouth full, quickly averting its gaze. God, the way it doesn't blink is fucking creepy.

"These are really good," it continues hurriedly, not bothering to swallow before speaking, and I see a few crumbs go spraying from its mouth. Slick. "They used to be okay, but lately they've gotten much better. Crispier and sweeter. Ymir says someone new is making them now. I guess that's why they're different. They were kind of soggy before."

"Well, good," I say smugly, surprised at this revelation and mildly (mildly! Not a lot!) pleased. "I make them now."

The naga looks at me in wide-eyed surprise, swallowing. "You _do? _It's _you?" _it gasps, tilting its head comically. "Oh! They are really good!"

"They are," I agree, not disliking where this has gone. I mean, it's one thing to get a compliment, but another to get one when the guy giving it doesn't even know it's you. Plus there's something about the animalistic naivety of the thing that convinces me it's not lying for my benefit. I don't really think it knows how to lie to me. Or even talk to me normally, or to anyone. Well, with only pushy, violent Ymir for companion, it's no wonder the thing doesn't behave like the human being it halfway is.

The naga stuffs the rest of the roll it's been eating halfway into its mouth and digs through the bag for another one. Withdrawing it, it suddenly stops slithering forward and jerks its body to the right, toward me; I jump, my heart skipping a beat as it's suddenly right next to me, its torso raised a little above the level of mine. Its snake half is so dark and patterned, except for its wide creamy belly. It practically shoves the roll in my face. "Mmpfh?" it grunts questionably past the pastry in its mouth, its cheeks ridiculously full, crumbs on its lips.

"Uh, no thanks," I say shakily, my hands raised. "I don't like them."

"Mmmh?" the naga squeaks again, tilting its head and looking dismayed. It looks down at the chocolate in its hand like it can't imagine how anyone could not love the monstrosities.

"Too sweet for me," I explain lowly. "I don't know; they're gross." I shrug. "More for you, I guess."

The naga swallows hugely, noisily, considering that, and perks up. "Thank you for them!" it squeaks happily, looking down at me with shy enthusiasm, its brow scrunched up and mouth curled up in a toothless smile.

With that kind of glee, honestly, it's easy to forget the fact that it's got a tail instead of legs. It's jarring how much its expressions can look so human.

The naga edges away shyly and continues his winding slither, and I continue following him. He keeps shooting me furtive glances again, his eyes roving over my face and quickly looking away when I look back at him. "What?" I finally demand.

The naga winces at being caught. "Uh," he stutters. "Your hair is . . . funny."

Like an idiot my hands reach up to touch my hair, as if to understand what the fuck he's talking about by fondling the subject matter. "What? My hair's awesome."

"It looks strange," the naga mumbles, drifting a little closer. "It's all dark and short on the sides, but-" He pats the top of his head slowly. "-here, it's all long and light? How do you do that? Does it grow naturally like that?"

"Uh," I reply dumbly, before clearing my throat. "Uh, I just trim further down, I guess . . . I mean, my hair's this light color, but if you cut it short it looks darker, I guess." Thomas makes fun of me for my hair, and I make fun of him for his bushy sideburns. It's a fair agreement.

"Oh." The naga's own hair isn't styled; it's just kind of there, long and unkempt, though it isn't dirty. And who's going to do his hair anyway, Ymir? Ymir would just tie it back all sloppy like hers and call it a day. At least I make an effort to look fine as hell.

The naga looks satisfied with my answer, though he keeps looking at my hair. I'm getting really self-conscious really quickly. I swear to god, if he reaches over and tries to touch it, I'll bite him.

. . . It's pretty dark in the woods right now, but I'm pretty sure that's the only hair he has. Like, okay, I realize this is a weird observation, but he's got no hair on his chest or anything. Like a girl or something (not that I would personally know). I mean, the naga looks (its human half, at least; I don't know shit about the logistics of its snake half) about my age, and even I have got some peach fuzzies. Oh my god, does he even have hair on his arms? He_ doesn't_. This is weird. Oh, wow, we're staring like creepers at each other's bodies. I'm just as bad.

The naga appears to have finished off his rolls. He swallows and lets the paper bag drop to the dirt, leaving it behind. He smiles shyly at me again in what I guess is gratitude. Wow, if only the guys in Trost appreciated my baking as much.

The area we're in has a lot less trees than the thick brush we were in before, and the ground becomes lighter and sandier under my feet. The ragged, irregular faces of big rocks protrude from the ground at increasing intervals, and I realize we're near the cliffy mountain, the original spot where the naga is rumored in my village to dwell. "Do you live here?" I ask him. "In the cliffs, I mean?"

He turns to me in surprise, perhaps startled I actually initiated the conversation this time. "Not at the top," he mumbles. "I go up there every morning to warm up, but the tree fell on the pathway. I need to get up there."

I don't ask what it means by "warm up" as unblocked sunlight shines upon us, and I squint around at the sudden change in scenery. We've just departed from the woods proper into a wide, expansive field dotted by sparse bushes, and before us is the shallow upward curve of the beginning of that relatively small mountain, the smallest sibling of its brothers that surround our valley. It's mostly bare of trees except for sparse copses, with large formations of black rock jutting out of its surface at random intervals. They're really interesting to look at; I've never seen rocks so big. I've never been this close to a mountain before; I stare dumbly up at it, at its massive rolling sides, its sheer dimensions that are pretty alien to me, being raised in a valley. I feel humbled like never before.

The naga's still moving, so I jog to catch up, not that I could possibly lose him; there's pretty much nowhere for anything to hide. Every so often he turns his head to make sure I'm still there. Sometimes he waves halfheartedly, but turns back too quickly to see if I return it. Not that I do. I'm too busy staring around at all this open space.

Also, I was right. He's like a hairless mole rat. I guess that's what happens when you're half reptile. You don't grow hair.

The naga and I begin to climb up the mountain, trekking across the steep cheek of the curved earth, walking along what I soon recognize as a beaten path, obviously manmade (nagamade?) because of its smoothness and deliberate placement. It winds back and forth in sharp angles up the mountain so we're practically going sideways and hardly up at all.

There's so much open _space. _I can see so far.

Pretty soon we're surrounded by titanic crumbles of black boulders above and below that look hazardous to even touch. The ground is smooth, short brown grass studded with black stones. I glance to my left; we're already fifty feet above the level forest floor, and it affords an admittedly nice view of the valley, at all the different colors of the treetops. It's interesting to see this new perspective of the place I've spent all my life. I can't see Trost, but I do see a large section very far away where the trees thin out, so I assume that's it. I wonder if anyone can see us, actually; the spot we're in is absolutely bare, and it can't be that hard to spot two moving figures against the one-colored mountain. It's a bit windier up here, and sunnier; I can't decide whether to feel hot or cold.

This has taken a much longer while than the naga originally promised. A few minutes, my ass. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes! Just up ahead," the naga assures me eagerly, continuing his winding path, slithering right over the roots of a gnarled, solitary tree that grows perpendicular to the ground for a foot or two before sharply turning skyward. I make sure not to trip on those roots; I wouldn't want to brain myself on a jutting one, or to stumble and start rolling. It's steep enough to make stopping a rapid descent lethal, and the only thing to break my fall would be big-ass rocks. What a dumb way to go. I'm helping out a snake monster and die because I trip over a fucking tree or roll down a hill.

The path is too narrow for me to walk beside the naga, so I keep just after his thin tail. I mean, it's not that narrow that I have trouble walking, but it does force you to keep single file. I can't stop looking at the tip of its tail. At the whole tail, actually, since the human part is now thirty feet ahead, leaving thirty feet of winding body to make up my view. Its shiny surface is sinewy and lined with muscle, shallowly pointed at the spine and densely scaled, made up of snugly fitted brown pebbles that identically shift and glint in the sun. It's so intricate that the amateur artist in me weeps at the prospect of adding that much detail if I were ever to draw a snake. Oh, shit, don't tell anyone I draw either. I'm shit at it.

I get fed up at one point and decide to skip the long turn and go vertically up to the next pass, which is the worst decision I've ever made in my life. I slip, like, six times and basically have to crawl up on all fours through the dry, brittle grass to avoid sliding and tumbling to my death. The naga, who has taken the long way and therefore been overtaken, approaches me slowly with a confused look on his face. "Are you all right?" he asks, watching me doubled over and panting. "It's more difficult to get up that way."

"I noticed," I gasp, my calves aching. I've never exercised so much in my life.

He skirts around me, still looking concerned, and continues up. He's moving with his chest bowed nearly flat to the ground, walking on his hands in a familiar way; his arms are a fair bit thicker than mine, so he must be much stronger. He said he comes here every day. He slithers up and down this mountain daily? What am I doing with my life?

His spine is really weird. Every vertebra sticks out of his skin an inch or two, forming a line of dark blunt spikes all the way down his back, with the longest between his shoulder blades. He's got all kinds of weird fucked up anatomy. I'm still trying to get over the fact that he can just spontaneously grow claws. Who the fuck does that?

I do a bit of math. Ymir's been talking about the naga since as long as I can remember. "Hey," I say quietly to get his attention. When he turns his head I ask, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," he answers, and his eyebrows scrunch together. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen," I mumble, a little miffed. I was twelve when Ymir told me about her scars. I was lying awake at night scared of a thirteen-year-old un-socialized chocolate-loving hair-admiring handshaking kid.

A huge black mass of rough rock claws the sky to our right, one a little bigger and wider than the others all around us, and the naga's path heads right toward it. I lean around him to look and see the path feed into a narrow, zigzagged strip winding up among the craggy crevices, like a waterfall of grass amidst dark rock. It's almost as steep as the cliff itself. I slow. "We're not climbing that, are we?" I ask incredulously. I can vividly imagine myself slipping and dying horrifically.

The naga turns and tilts his head at me again. I've literally never seen a human being do it that much and to that degree in my life. "Yes?" he replies questioningly, like it's obvious. Well, hey, don't fucking judge me for not trekking mountains every day, you piece of shit snake.

"I can't climb that. I'll die."

The naga pouts a little bit. "It's not that steep. Do you want me to go first? I can point out all the handholds . . ."

"Uh . . . sure," I mutter, gesturing for him to continue. If anyone's going to slip and die, let it be someone whose name is not Jean Kirschtein.

He turns and winds his way to the base of the path, and then, with obviously practiced skill and barely even a pause, lifts his torso high into the air and starts hauling himself up, his hands grasping little alcoves in the rock, rising quickly and steadily with what looks like next to no effort. His giant tail slides up and pools and bunches on any level surface it can find, like feet finding ledges, pushing him up from below at the same time.

When he reaches a spot where the path levels out he settles, his tail curling up tightly underneath him, and turns to me and waves shyly. "It isn't as difficult as it looks, I promise," he calls down.

"All right," I grumble, approaching the rock like it's a live thing. Wow, where do I even start with this? I scramble up the shadowed part at the bottom that's not sheer like the rest and look up anxiously. Is it too late to call this quits? The naga looks down at me, his head tilted in that exaggerated comic way. Damn, he's high. He's like twenty feet up.

Grimacing, I tentatively stoop over and try to crawl upwards, but my toes skid downward and my stomach flies into my throat as I choke back a yelp. "Shit shit _shit," _I grunt under my breath, my fingertips painful, reaching for the wall to my right to climb upward. There's a hand-sized hole in its surface with a mouth that looks unnaturally smooth; it must be one of the handholds the naga uses. I grip it with my hand, trying not to imagine what kind of creepy crawlies might be lying and clicking in wait in this cool hole, right next to my fingers.

I haul myself up a step and nearly screech when I look up and see the naga's right in front of me, hanging upside down and hugging the wall, staring at me. His tail runs up the cliff and wraps around a rock; he must have lowered himself down, using his own body as a rope. "Hello," he says, like this is completely fucking normal. "You, um. You look like you are having trouble. And that's okay! I mean, I have fallen off here so many times-"

"I can do it fine," I snap, and my terrible traitor of a foot chooses that moment to slip, and I actually _do_ screech this time as I jerk downward. The naga's hands close tightly on my upper arm before I can truly fall and I dangle there like a moron, kicking my feet and gaping up at him. "Not fine. _Not fine."_

"It's okay; I've got you!" he says lightly, probably trying to be reassuring, smiling widely at me over his outstretched arm. He begins to withdraw, sliding backwards up the path, and my arm is pinched painfully under his fingers as it takes pretty much all of my weight. It's hard to be helpful when there's literally no place to put my feet or hands. Oh god, naga, please don't grow claws at this specific moment.

The naga hauls me up to the little shelf it lies upon and waits until I've steadied before it lets go. I cough awkwardly, dusting myself off. "Thanks," I mutter, still feeling my heartbeat thunder through my temples.

The naga shrugs, beaming at me, and then seems to realize he's got to respond to that more adequately. "You're welcome. Sorry I grabbed you. I didn't want you to fall."

"'S fine." We're uncomfortably close. A curve of his tail is almost touching my foot. Most of the length of his snake half pulses steadily, evenly, at the same pace as his chest expanding, and I realize that's the motion of his breathing. I didn't know you could see snakes breathe. I start to think about how that works if he's got human lungs and snake lungs at the same time, but stop, because I'm not a scientist and it's too complicated for me. "We are almost there, right? To the thing?"

"Oh! Yes, we are," the naga says, rubbing his knuckles together in anticipation, looking to the side where the path is (mercifully) now a little more level. "It's right around the corner. Right up there." He smiles at me again in that nervously friendly way and slithers on, his tail slowly uncoiling and following his torso. I wait until it's all unraveled and ahead before following.

We're in the mountain's craggy pimple or something. This big-ass rock formation seems to have a level top, like a spikey plateau, which I'm thankful for, because I'm not in the mood to fall and get rescued by the naga again. I walk unsteadily through the earthen corridor, looking ahead to see the path takes a sharp right, and the tip of the naga's tail disappears around the bend.

When I also round the bend I stop short. "Well, that is a tree," I say dumbly, because there before us is indeed a tree. It must have been growing up on the edge of the wall above and somehow fallen, because it's wedged sideways across the path like a piece of fence, right at chest level. It's the shortest, fattest tree I've ever seen, and is perfectly wedged between these two walls, which are about ten feet apart. Its bark is thin and full of scratches.

The naga nods. "It is a tree," he confirms sagely, patting it sadly with his hand. "And it won't move."

"What a bitch-ass tree," I mutter.

The naga presses both hands to it and gives it a push. Absolutely nothing happens, and he sighs. "It's so in the way."

"Well, uh . . ." I trudge a little closer to see if there's any way to get this thing out of here while also trying not to get much closer to the naga. This stone corridor's narrow as fuck. I brace myself against it and also give it a shove. Not even a budge. "Well this is annoying. Has it moved at all? Like, when you were trying to move it before?"

The naga shrugs sadly. "Maybe a little, but it's largely in the same place."

"Okay, well . . . let's try to push it together, I guess."

I brace my shoulder against it, and the naga follows suit. I give a count of three and we both heave against it, straining, but nothing much happens. The naga's tail keeps sliding backwards instead of gripping the ground and holding him steady like my feet do for me. Sucks to be half snake, huh.

I wonder if it's too early to be like, _Well, sucks for you, I did all I can; see you, fucker. _I lean back and look under the blockage. I could probably fit under there if I squeezed like a motherfucker. "If I could just get to the other side, I could try pushing it there, but . . ."

I trail off as the naga glances at me, turns to the tree, and rears skyward, suddenly getting a whole lot taller than me. I shrink back against the wall, some wordless "Uuuh?" coming out my mouth as he puts his hands on the top of the trunk and vaults right over, disappearing over the side, his tail gliding after him. I hear the sound of his tail slapping against the ground as it lands on the other side, then the hiss of his voice. "Okay, er, now what should I do?"

I raise my hands up to my sides in exasperation, even if he can't see them, addressing the sky above the tree. "Are you- wait, why the hell did you need me to come all the way over here and try to get this damn tree out when you can just go right over it?" I demand, pissed.

His voice is halting and small when it comes. "W-Well, sometimes I . . . need to get over here without any interference, and have trouble seeing, and I don't want to fall and hurt myself when that happens . . ."

Yeah, this kid's related to Ymir; I have no idea what the fuck either of them are ever talking about. "Fine, fine," I grumble, "whatever, just . . . just give the thing a shove, yeah? We'll see if it moves or not."

I hear the quiet "mphf" of a voice straining and something hard (probably scales) scraping against the scratchy ground, and then he calls, "Nothing."

"Well, shit." I'm out of ideas. Would the naga get pissed if I just turned and left, saying that there's nothing more I can do? Or does he expect me to stay here until we've figured it out? I've given up worrying about getting back to Reiner on time because it clearly isn't happening. Fuck, I hope he doesn't fire me. That's the only thing getting me out of the house. Is it literally that hard to climb over this fucking thing? He did it in less than ten seconds! I'm going to kill Ymir. I'm going to kill this naga. They'd probably kill me first. _Fuck._

The naga's head pops up over the log, making me jump again, god damn it. "Jean?" I see the name-butchering has not ceased.

"What?"

"What do we do now?"

"Let me think." And what I'm thinking is that there's no way this thing is budging left or right. It's completely wedged. We need a crowbar, a horse, thirty adults, and divine intervention.

I cluck my tongue absentmindedly, drumming my fingers on the trunk. I hear the naga shifting on the other side of the tree and wonder just what is so goddamn important at the end of this path that he needs this done. It better be the fucking fountain of youth.

I look at the walls. Above the juncture of the rock walls and the top and bottom halves of the tree are skid marks that streak upward, seemingly formed when the damn thing fell. I crouch and circle my arms under the tree (try not to think about your hands being near the naga, Jean, right where you can't see) and give it a heave directly upward. Okay, that's a definite shift right there.

"Oop, there it is!" I announce. "All right, we've got to-" Oh, fuck, what's his name again? "Hey, uh, Marco, do you think you can squeeze under this thing? You've got to lift it vertically." Because fuck if _I'm_ doing it.

His head pops up over the log again. "Wuh?"

"Vertically. Get under the tree on your back or something and push it up." I gesture to the gap between the offending plant and the ground. "Push it up and then rotate it and you can get it right out of here. Problem solved."

I jump (a_gain, _god damn it) as the naga hops back over to my side, his tail almost smacking me in the head. He leans down and gauges the gap, glancing at me periodically for approval, before slowly rotating onto his back and sliding under the tree, his back twisting, most of his tail staying right side up. How weird is that, being able to twist your spine around so much? Fucking unnatural.

He pokes his head out at me. "Push up?"

"Push up," I repeat a little dryly, because god _damn _his constant need for me to tell him what to do is getting real old real fast.

He takes a deep breath and, his back flush against the ground (I wonder if it hurts to have those weird-ass spines press against the ground), heaves upward. With a groan the tree skids upward an inch or two, scraping crumbles of rock and bark onto the ground, but it doesn't go far up enough to be rotated. The naga's arms relax again, the tree settles back into its former position, and he frowns. "I might need some help."

It takes a while before I realize he's talking to me. "Oh, uh-" _Fuck! _"I guess I'll . . . let me just . . ."

He shuffles over toward one wall to give me room, gazing at me expectantly. God damn it. I wobble down to my knees, sighing. All kinds of nightmare scenarios flit through my head. The tree can fall on me. The naga can take advantage of the fact that I'm pinned and eat me. I may have to actually expend physical effort to help the naga. Those kinds of things.

The ground is really rough, and that's never been more obvious as it is now, when I slowly and awkwardly get onto my side and then to my back. Holy shit is this tree short and fat, and the hard round curve of its trunk bows low to the ground, uncomfortably close to my face. I squirm and drag myself under it until it's at chest level. I can barely move under here. I don't look at the naga beside me because guess what, he's probably staring at me, as usual.

"All right, count of three," I mutter, putting my hands up above me on the trunk, making sure the naga does the same. "One, two . . . three." Simultaneously we push, arms straining, shoulder blades being driven harshly into the hard ground. Pebbles and dust crumble off the black walls as the branches and roots of this stunted plant chafe upward. The naga's half of the tree is rising a lot faster than mine is, which doesn't do well for my ego.

With a heave and a huff the naga's end of the tree scrapes free of its constraining position, and I yelp as the tree wobbles, now only being held up by our hands and not the walls. My arms shake from the strain. "'S free!" the naga crows delightedly, and his tail flexes as he hefts his end higher, tipping the other down toward me.

"A-a-a-a-ah, hello, stop doing that!" I yowl, my arms shaking badly because fuck, comparably, I'm a fifteen-year-old beanpole and I'm about to drop this thing on my face.

"Oh, whoops," the naga says hastily, sitting up, somehow managing to shift the tree to his shoulders – the _entire _thing. Without the constricting rock walls to hold the tree fast, he's free to lift it . . . and lift it he does. Holy shit. I scramble away as he rises to what I guess is the equivalent of a standing position for him, an entire tree across his shoulders. It's a short thing, but still. It's like a fucking log.

The naga rotates his shoulders to a position the tree won't get stuck in again and sets it down against the wall. He smiles down at me, eyes aglow, his hands doing that little excited-fist-shaking thing again. "Thank you!" he says happily.

I clear my throat and stand too, brushing the dirt off my clothes. I barely did anything. "Yeah," I say shortly. "No problem."

"I could never have done that myself!"

Somehow I doubt that, because he just fucking lifted the thing like it was nothing. "No prob."

He puts his hands down. "I guess you want to go back now?"

"Yep," I say in relief, glad this is over. Ymir owes me, in case I haven't mentioned this. I let the smiling naga take the lead again, walking behind his winding tail, until we get to the edge of the rock shelf. "Aw, fuck," I mutter; I didn't have a ton of luck getting up this thing, and I'm probably going to have just as much trouble getting down. It looks like I'll have to-

"Need help?" the naga suggests cautiously.

I groan, "Yes," because I know I'm going to break my fucking neck otherwise. I grimace when the naga timidly offers his hand, like asking for another handshake, and wraps his tail around a rock in preparation.

I take his hand, ignoring my inward trepidation and revulsion at touching him yet again. Slowly, meticulously, he lowers me down, and once my feet touch (mostly) level grass I let go immediately. I wipe my hands on my pants yet again, pretending I'm just getting some dirt off, as the rest of the naga's body slides and slithers down.

The walk back is quiet, mostly because I guess the naga has expended all topics of conversation and because I'm trying to concentrate on walking down this damn mountain without tripping and dying. Human bodies aren't supposed to lean backwards so far, god damn it.

The cool shade afforded by the forest once we get back to it is a relief like nothing else. I didn't anticipate how hot it would get with nothing between the sun and me. Climbing mountains is hard, kids. Don't do it. Especially not with nagas, because it makes you feel simultaneously threatened and inadequate at the familiarity and ease with which they traverse the same slopes.

The naga stops suddenly in his tracks, and I almost trip right over him. He's rigid, and I'm nervous. Why the hell did he stop?

He turns to me, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows raised, like he just thought of something. "Wait, you-" He squints, looking me up and down, before perking up. "Wait here," he says suddenly. "Five minutes, that's all, and if I'm not back by then you can leave, but just give me five minutes, please?"

"What?" Oh my _god, _more waiting? Christ! "Five minutes- five minutes for what?"

He raises his palms to me, gesturing for me to stay put. "Just five minutes, I promise! Please stay!" he calls before whirling and diving into the brush, disappearing with alarming quickness. I gape in his wake, arms spread in indignation. I see flashes of movement in the distance – hair, arm, glistening scaly back – until the naga completely disappears.

"What the fuck?" I ask the hissing leaves, the rustling wind. Neither answers me.

I take a step in the direction of home, but falter. There's nothing less tempting than the naga coming back, seeing me gone, and going to _look _for me. With claws. And fangs. Once again I'm letting myself get intimidated into following orders. Fucking freckled people. I hate freckled people.

I bet it's not even going to be five minutes. More like another wasted fucking hour.

There's nowhere to sit, so I awkwardly stand there, shifting my weight from one hip to the other, until I hear leaves rustling in a more deliberate fashion than just wind exactly three minutes later. I turn to see the naga winding back toward me, holding something tan and limp in his hands.

He holds it out when he gets close enough, and I stare at him like he's fucking nuts. It's a fucking rabbit. A _dead_ rabbit.

"Here," the naga says gleefully, like this is the best gift he could give anyone.

"What."

"Ymir always takes game back with her when she leaves, but you didn't have time to hunt any. So I got one for you!" he explains eagerly. "She says the village you're from does a lot of hunting. I didn't want you to go back empty-handed."

I stare, stunned, at the offered prize. The animal looks whole and clean, with no blood streaking its fur, and I wonder how he killed it. Probably snapped its neck or something, with his barbaric tree-lifting strength. And he _can_ go awfully fast . . .

"Wait, this is _mine?" _I ask, just to confirm. Hey, don't blame me; it's not every day your village snake monster gives you dead animals.

"Mm-hm!" he hums, nodding eagerly, proffering it further. "You might have to stab it with something, to make it look like you killed it. It's supposed to be yours."

Haltingly I stretch out my hand and grip the rabbit's loose fur, and the naga lets go. It's a lot softer and more slippery than I thought it would be. It's still warm. Its black eyes bulge dully in its skull. "Uh . . . thanks," I say slowly. This is . . . weird. I hold in my hand a dead animal – a dead animal that was _hunted_ and slain for me to claim as my own. When I get back home it's going to look . . . well, it's going to look like I offed it myself. Me, Jean Kirschtein. I caught something. I acquired a source of food that doesn't contain wheat.

"You're welcome," Marco chirps, starting to sidle away. "Can you . . . can you tell Ymir I said hello? If you see her?"

"Yah," I grunt distractedly, still staring like a moron at this dead fucking rabbit in my hand. "Yeah, uh, I will."

I have never done this before. I mean, everyone sees tons of dead animals in Trost. Walk by a tree in someone's yard? It's not uncommon to see a skinned deer hanging upside down to dry. People wear furs like they're going out of fashion. The skins of our first kills are often nailed to our walls as decorations. Thomas's is a badger. And mine will be . . . this. Dangling from my hands right now.

I blink, glancing up. "Hey, thanks, Marco-"

I cut myself off, frowning. He's gone. I look around blankly, but I'm alone.

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Walking back into Trost is surreal. I don't make an effort to look like I knew exactly what I was getting into, because I sure didn't. The rabbit's slick fur has become sweaty in my clenched fist. I keep lifting it up to eye level, staring at it. It's a _dead rabbit. _In my _hand. My _hand.

I wander down the street like the undead, and I am not noticed at all, like usual. Carrying dead animals around is kind of normal around here. Still, it's _me. _I am holding a dead rabbit. A rabbit that came from the woods. It's got meat on it. It's a _rabbit. _

I made sure to give it a little nick on the neck, at least, so it looks like I did it instead of Marco.

Reiner's not in the front when I approach the bakery, and Bertholdt is absent, but there're a few customers waiting. I wince, realizing how obnoxiously long I've been gone. I hurry behind the counter and poke my head in, mumbling, "Uh, so, I can totally explain . . ."

Reiner's sitting at a table inside, scoring a loaf with a knife. He looks up and sees me, and his brow creases. "Hey, man," he greets. "Where've you been? You were gone for a while."

I grit my teeth, hoping I seriously don't get let go. Hey, Reiner, I got held up by the naga! Wow-whee! "Look, dude, I'm sorry, but a lot of stuff came up, and I had to do a favor for Ymir-"

But Reiner's become distracted, staring at my prize. "Where'd you get that?" he asks, pointing his knife at the rabbit in my hands.

"Uh," I say dumbly, my throat dry. "I, uh, I caught it. Killed it, I mean. I did. Yup." Fucking amazing performance, Jean Kirschtein, Christ.

A big-ass grin splits Reiner's face. "No way! Really?" He stands, crossing over to me. "You did?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Holy shit. That's awesome, dude!" he whoops, thumping me hard on the shoulder in that overly affectionate way of his. "So that's where you were? Why didn't you tell me? I shouldn't have worried!"

"Uh," I squeak, but he just goes right on. "Look at you, coming up in the world. Do you know what to do with it? Or are you just going to give it to your parents? That's what I did first time I caught something, and my mom turned it into dinner. Best meal I ever had!"

"I guess so. Wait, you're not mad I was gone for so long . . . ?"

"Not when you do good with your time!" Reiner says jovially. "Why would I be mad? Great job, Kirschtein!"

He claps me on the shoulder one more time and steps around me to go back out to the counter, trumpeting some kind of greeting to the group outside. I stand there in stunned silence, blinking. Today's . . . crazy.

Today's pretty all right.

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The rest of the day winds down in a bit of a haze, my mind made fuzzy by all the events that happened and the fact that Reiner keeps poking his head in and grinning and giving me thumbs up. Let's have a rundown. I almost died, like, three times, I spent a good portion of the day running around with the naga, said naga gave me a gift that I've literally been yearning for for the longest time, and Reiner is acting like I just took down a bear for all his beaming. I've exercised today probably more than I ever have in my life. By the time the sun is halfway through setting, I feel physically and emotionally exhausted.

So turning around to see that Ymir once _again _snuck into the bakery and is standing behind me isn't very good for my heart.

I jolt, air hissing out of my throat. "God damn it," I breathe. My heart pounds. "Stop fucking _doing_ that."

"So how'd it go, John?" Ymir asks uncaringly, leaning sideways against a table, practically lying on it as if it's hers. "You and my Marco got along fine?"

"Yeah, whatever, we got along fine," I mutter. "Except for the fact that he dragged me all over the mountain for some pointless favor. Oh, and he got pissed at me again for something. I almost got eaten. _Again."_

"Don't be dramatic," Ymir sighs. "Marco doesn't have it in him to hurt anyone. He's a big softie."

A big softie who can toss a fucking tree, sure. I kind of want to ask about Niles and why he kept her all day, but I quickly decide that wow, I don't care. "Why are you here? I don't have to go there again, do I? It's way too late for that!"

Ymir shakes her head. "I'm just checking up on ya. Making sure everything went smoothly." Her eyes flit to the right and I know exactly what she's looking at. For lack of anywhere else to put it, I stowed the rabbit in a very dead heap on a shelf that doesn't hold anything. Ymir nods at it. "He do that?"

"Yes," I admit.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Of course he did. He showers me in the things. It's unimaginably prosperous for wildlife up there. He's pretty much the only predator." She trails off and looks at me. "You're not good enough to get anything, are you? You don't know how."

I squirm a little, agitated and put on the spot. "No," I grumble. "I . . . don't really know anything." I add defensively, "But, I mean, I'm still young. I'll learn."

"I could take down a bull moose when I was thirteen," she says dryly. "When are you going to learn, then?"

I stare at the floor and shrug. These are all the questions I dislike thinking about and think about way too often.

Ymir gets up from the table and puts her hands on her hips, looking purposeful. "Listen, Jimbles. Between Niles suddenly wanting to crawl up my ass and fixing Jaeger's mistakes, I don't have a lot of time on my hands anymore. That means, sometime in the future, I'm probably going to have to ask you to visit Marco again."

Okay, look, the naga was a hell of a lot more pleasant than our disastrous first meeting, but I still want nothing to do with these people. That fact that Ymir expects me to just keep running off into the woods and exhaust myself dancing to a freckled tune annoys me to no end. I open my mouth to give a hell of a lot of protest before Ymir raises a hand and glares, cutting me off.

"Before you start pissing and moaning, I'll make you a deal. I'll teach you what you need to know."

My objections die in my throat. Actually, all rational thought dies. "W-What?"

Ymir nods, looking grave, like she's sacrificing something very dear (her free time, whoop-dee-doo). "I'll teach you how to hunt if you continue to keep your mouth shut about my brother. Aaand do some small favors now and then. Tiny things. Sound fair, Jimbles?"

I gape at her, disbelieving, hoping beyond hope. "Uh, yes? Yes! Definitely!" I can't believe my ears. Holy shit, this is so much better than awkwardly stalking and watching someone! Holy _shit! _Ymir's offering to teach me. Me, Jean Kirschtein. That dead rabbit is about to multiply from beyond the grave.

Ymir nods in satisfaction. "Now, listen, the only free time I've got is . . . well, one very specific day a week. Guess which one."

This puts a bit of water on the fire of my victory, but doesn't douse it. "The day you visit the naga."

"Exactly, Jimbles. Every Wednesday, bright and early, I suppose you've got to come with me. See if you can get Wednesdays off work, all right?" She leans forward suddenly, dangerously. "That means you and Marco are suddenly going to be seeing a whole lot of each other. So if you're still harboring some fucking ridiculous little superiority complex around him, or act in a manner around him that doesn't rub me the right way, things are going to get real ugly real fuckin' fast. Got that?"

I gulp, leaning back; now I remember exactly why I consider these freckled losers so nuts. I nod quickly.

Ymir leans back again. "Good. So we understand each other."

"Yup."

"So, we got a deal? You ready to finally become a productive member of society?"

She sticks her hand out, offering a handshake, and I almost burst out in irrational giggles, considering who else wanted a handshake from me today.

My hand meets hers. "Deal."

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**Wow, call me a real estate agent because this chapter is nothing but location location location.**

**This story's also on AO3; my account name is Saphruikan, and sEVEN PIECES OF FANART HAVE BEEN DRAWN? JEESUS. My tumblr is .com. Thank you, everyone, for the support!**

**The reason this update happened so quickly after the other is that chapter four was actually written and published a while ago; for some reason, fanfiction refuses to upload on this site from Google Chrome, and it just occurred to my dumb ass to try it with Safari. Today. So there we go.**


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